


Project RePair

by EvanThorizon



Category: Mother 3
Genre: Adoption, Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Death, Corruption, Cyborgs, False Memories, Family, Gen, Government Conspiracy, Grief/Mourning, Human Experimentation, Mental Health Issues, Multiverse, Parallel Universes, Past Brainwashing, Psychic Abilities, Redemption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2019-11-16 11:37:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 69,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18093569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvanThorizon/pseuds/EvanThorizon
Summary: At the age of thirty-three, the Masked Man, lead commander in the army received a letter informing him that someone had news about who he was, his origins, and wanted to tell him about The Boy Named Lucas, whom he killed years ago. In a world where resistance forces were few and far between, and with his interest piqued, he opted to investigate, only to discover the painful truth of his origins before the military took him in.A story about the Masked Man living in a Bad End of Mother 3, learning how to become human again by entering a world where he can make amends.(New Title!)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> uh hi. I've been working on a thing.  
> there's minimal editing but i dont really care. :)
> 
> (New Title!!!)

They told him it was his thirty-third birthday. It had been twenty years he had been employed with them, and he supposed that this was believed to be a reason to celebrate. But he didn’t know his exact date of birth, nor did he care to celebrate it. He was cybernetic, he didn’t age the same as ordinary people anymore. Birthday celebrations were meant for people with families, with friends – ordinary humans. He was far from ordinary. He examined his hand, glove removed, dating his flesh back as the data scrolled through his vision. Thirty-three years. His gaze shifts to the prosthetic, robotic arm on his right – three years. He recently had his arm redesigned. In times of peace, there was no use having a cannon for an arm. He’d recently had his arm enhanced and he was due for an upgrade in the next few days (maintenance done semi-annually).

They told him it was his thirty-third birthday. He received a medal on his desk commending him for his twenty years of service. On his desk, there was an envelope as well. Violet in color, lovely, curled handwriting on the card. He was thirty-three years of age; he received his first birthday card. From a stranger.

His past was hazy still. He could not recall anything prior to his employment. He knows he was a child soldier, but he had been informed he was an orphan; his parents were dead and he was an only child. He had no one and the Pig Masked soldiers had taken him in, given him a home. He was told he was on the brink of death when they found him. They had given him a life. A purpose. The only thing he had eventually recalled from his past was his name: Claus. But he dared not use that name. He did not have one, nor did he need one.

He sits at his desk and removes the medal from its case and pins it on his uniform -- sleek, dark grey with gold trim and white buttons, adorned with medals and pins for his service. Behind him on the wall, two decorative weapons. Although they were hardly decorative. One, a translucent, golden sword, glimmering and manufactured from an engineered hybrid material that you care not to know the value of. Beneath it, what looks like a rapier, a needle to be precise, but it looks like it should be used for fencing. This was more a trophy than anything, retrieved from the ground after he struck down the single force trying to stop him in his mission. It had been hard to preserve as its magical energy was supposed to dissipate with its release. 

He had never received a birthday card before. He’s a professional, so he retrieves the letter opener (a gift for his tenth year of service) from his desk and tears open the envelope. He scans the paper -- homemade, an art form in and of itself now. Made from recycled scrap paper. Impressive -- before he slides the card from its encasement. However, he is greeted with a superfluous explosion of glitter and confetti, littering itself upon his desk. He does not need to scan to know this will take a long time to clean up.

He has any number of soldiers and lackeys at his disposal but he chooses not to call them to clean up the mess. Now and then he doesn’t mind cleaning up messes; enjoys it even. So he tidies up before he settles down to see the card. He won’t lie that he’s somewhat excited. Excited? Oh, he has not felt that in a  _ long _ time…

Perhaps it’s anxiety as well, again, another feeling he had not since felt since his youth; he scans the room for more glitter hoping to prolong the inevitable. The problem with being a cyborg is that you are the only thing capable in all existence that can clean up ever spec of a glitter bomb. It’s a fate that he must deal with, and a lonely path he must walk. Nevertheless, he holds the card within his hand. There are a few granules of glitter left on its surface but he cannot be distracted by the need to clean them now. He’s dawdled enough and it’s time to open his card.   
  
Of course, he somewhat wished he hadn’t as he reads the text inside.

_ So, I figure it’s about time someone gives you shit for everything you did. Seriously, you’ve got some nerve.  _

Ah, so it was hate mail. This, he was no stranger to.

_ I should have been spending my teen years having fun, enjoying the cusp of adulthood, living my best life. But no, thanks to you, I had to hold a dying child in my arms. Does that haunt you, ya son of a bitch? Actually, no, that’s a huge insult to your mom. You’re just a complete, utter piece of shit. I didn’t know your mom, but I knew of her. I knew that she died for you. I knew that in the end, her sacrifice for you was in vain. _

Well, this was just crass, now wasn’t it?

_ You’re probably thinking, ‘Wow this is some crass writing,” at this point, huh? Well it is, and I don’t really care! You ruined the lives of so many people -- and don’t get me started on what your stupid army has done recently. Holding an entire world hostage with that needle? Dangling the threat of pulling it if any of us so much as slip up and voice our opinions? That’s shallow. That’s even low for villains. Villains would have just pulled the damn thing and let the Dark Dragon consume us all! But no, your stupid army is torturing us. You got a lot of enemies out here and the second I get my chance, I’ll gladly show you all what for! _

Certainly bold. Voicing an opinion while speaking about fear of opinions. He had to admit, the person who sent this had some courage.

_ But this isn’t about the world. As much as I would like it to be. It’s about you. It’s about something I promised someone years ago. It’s about who you are. I promised someone very important to me that I’d try and find out the truth about you. And I found out. I know who you are. Or, well, who you were _ .

Well, this certainly has his attention.

_ I’d love to tell you in writing. But I have no idea how much those freaks monitor your mail. Somewhere in the glitter, I hit a note with where to meet me. You better come. Coward. _

And never, in his entire life, had he opted to make a mess so quickly. He scrambled to his feet and snatched the vacuum from the corner, ripping the bag from its place, sending dust, glitter, line and amongst it all, a small slip of paper with the words  _ Osohe Castle _ .

(He thinks, hadn’t Osohe been demolished…? No matter. He would investigate.)

Sitting on the floor, now an absolute disaster full of bits of shimmering plastic, dust bunnies and filth, he stares at the small sheet of paper. It was out near Tazmily. Again? He thought that village had been destroyed ages ago. All that was there now was a bunch of abandoned buildings, an old cemetery and the castle ruins. People still lived out that way...Master Porky assured him he had no reason to return.   
  
But, he wondered…

Curiosity wasn’t an emotion, it was an itch to scratch. And he found that the itch was starting to consume him. He’d leave immediately -- alright, not immediately. He had a mess to clean up first. And a shower to take.

* * *

 

He had come to find that he enjoyed wearing his full military regalia whenever he went out to investigate a tip. Medals all affixed to his uniform, gloves worn, collar pressed and cape adorned to trail behind him. Maybe capes were passé, but he enjoyed the look of them. Freshly dressed and prepared, he descended the floors of the tower in which he lived and worked and began to walk down the long hallways and corridors toward the hangar where the various air carriers were located. He had no intentions of bringing anyone more than necessary with him. He was capable of flying himself to Tazmily, but. . . _ effort _ .   
  
With two pilots in tow, both in the simplest of military dress, he strode toward the entrance of a small craft, suited for only four people, the hatch open for him to enter.

“Where are we headed, commander?” one of the soldiers asked, saluting to him, somewhat nervous as if he were overstepping.

“The Tazmily ghost town.” he spoke coldly.

“Why there?” the other asked, also saluting hastily.

“I received a tip.”

The two, a few feet behind him chatter between themselves for a moment before rushing up to keep in step with him. He pays little mind to their apprehension.

“Isn’t that place haunted now?”

“Yeah, I heard it’s cursed.”

“People say there’s some kind of monster there.”

“No monster can be as terrifying as what we’ve created.” He interrupts their panic quickly, turning to face them, cybernetic eye glowing bright (the eye cannot do anything but scan environments, but it comes in very handy for intimidating people who don’t know its capabilities).

“But what is there, sir?” one of them asks as he steps into the craft, settling into one of the seats, arms crossed pensievely across his chest.

“I heard a tip, some sort of resistance.” He says coldly. “A possible threat, but most likely nothing. If it’s a threat, I wish to eradicate it before it can spread to the masses.”

The pilots board and he gazes out the small, oval window as the gate to the hangar opens for them to leave. He has no intention of harming the sender of the letter. Could it be a trap? Quite possibly. But the temptation of learning about his origins were so strong. Besides. If it was a trap to lure him in, to attack him -- to  _ kill _ him. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

 

 

Upon arrival, it’s beyond evident that this region is in disarray. No one lived here anymore, and with good reason. There was nothing here. Wildlife had run rampant. No one wanted to be in this mess. Why someone would be living in Osohe Castle still was beyond understanding. But squatters would be squatters, he supposed, and there was little reason to come in with an eviction notice.

The soldiers that had accompanied him had opted to remain with the craft. With the number of chimeras, both organic due to suspected radiation, or fabricated, due to military interference, it was smart to stay guarded. He knew better. He knew how to take care of himself. He was equipped for that. No, he was designed for it. He could not be scared off by chimeras, hostile or not.

The main hall of Osohe Castle is the same as he’d seen on records. Old, worn down carpet on either side of the hall leading to places off to the side; he cared not their destination. Upon the floor, an intricate marble engraving that he could not fathom being easy to clean. Before him a short hallway leading to another section of hallway. The sender of his letter did not specify where to meet. Frustrating.

  
“ _ Alright so get your ass through the door on your left and stop standing around like an idiot. We got a lot to talk about _ .” The voice is neither spoken, nor a sensation but he turns to examine a possible source regardless. But he heeds the instruction, prepared to activate the sensors on his arm to transform it into a cannon to strike if the need arose.   


As he enters the door to his left, he enters what appears to be a modest library of sorts, a few couches and coffee table decorated the center with shelves upon shelves of books laid into the walls. A few end tables sat around, books opened to pages studied and scrawled on. Lights sat upon the tables as well, some candles, some electric and battery powered. At the far end, a woman, perhaps in her forties had her back turned to him, book in her hand.

“You know, I wasn’t actually expecting you to come so fast.” She says, closing the book. Her hair is long, to her mid back and a striking shade of magenta (familiar, he finds himself noting).There’s a few loose braids tied in with her hair, none seeming to have any real means of tying them off, possibly tied in place out of boredom. She’s dressed somewhat earthly, a dark, plum poncho (or perhaps scarf? He doesn’t know fashion) draped over her shoulders, covering the top of a long, grey and lavender dress and loose fitting pants. He suspects she’s dressed more for comfort than style, but he is not one to judge. He doesn’t own any clothing but his military attire, so he couldn’t complain. There’s a faint growling noise before she can speak further as a small, brown dog comes bounding out from at her feet, having been resting on a pair of tan, fur trimmed boots. The dog lunges, but it does not attack, growling at him as if he were an enemy. Well, he sort of was, now wasn’t he?

“Easy, Bonnie.” The woman says as she faces him, her eyes a piercing shade of purple? Blue? It’s hard to tell. Her arm raises, finger twirling before she points at his feet, sending a chill through him. Gazing down, he sees why. Ice, enclosed around his boots, rendering him immobile. The dog settles as she approaches the dog, stroking its head to ease its nerves. “I’d tell you to have a seat, but,” her lips quirk into a smirk. “I think you’d understand that I can’t exactly trust you.”

“You will release the ice,” he says coldly to her, his brow furrowing as his finger hovers over the switch to activate his cannon.

“In due time,” she says stepping back and sitting on one of the couches, patting the cushion for the dog to join her. As if conjuring it from nothing, she produced a bag of snacks -- chips, he suspected -- and began to munch on them as she started him over. “Man, you still look like a little boy, huh?” she comments, her lips quirking to a smirk before she swallows her snack. She’s spilled crumbs on herself and he wants to tell her to tidy up but she brushes them from her poncho before he can address it.

“Then make quick of work of telling me what you have to say, I’m not one to be trifled with.” he insists as she snorts, laughing a bit as she stretches out on the couch.

“Man, you look like a little kid, and you’re talking like a old man. I’m sorry but you’re going to have to dial back the seriousness. It’s weird. I’m used to this face of yours sniffling and trying to tell jokes about dog farts, not, this bullshit.” She crunches down on another bit of her snack. “Eh, whatever, not like you’re gonna listen to me. You’re here ‘cause I have information for ya. Not to listen to me reminisce about the kid you killed twenty years ago -- you know what, yeah. That’s a good place to start.” Her face lights up in such a way that it’s almost hurtful. “How about we start by me telling you all about how I had to hold a thirteen year old boy in my arms as he was dying, and so desperately trying to get back up to chase you down and stop you? You remember him? You remember me?” And she was on her feet again, her snacks now set on the table that had been in front of her. She takes a step forward, pointing at him faintly maliciously, sparks coming from the tips of her finger. “Do you know what it’s like to feel a tiny fist grabbing your clothes and saying ‘Kumatora, I gotta stop him,’ as a  _ child _ chokes on his own blood? You know what it’s like to watch  _ another boy _ turn his back as his own  _ brother _ is slipping away? You have absolutely no idea.”

And she has closed the space between the two of them, her finger pointed beneath his chin, sparks flickering at the tip, stinging his skin. He feels the individual flecks of electricity in the metal panel of his face. He feels the circuitry in his system briefly surge in response. She does seem to want to kill him, but he makes no move to let her know she’s actually quite good at this intimidation thing.

“Your words are empty threats.” He says coolly, knowing that he needs to speak selectively lest his jaw slack too much and he get shocked in response. “I don’t know what it’s like, nor am I capable of it. I’m afraid your anger and grief is misplaced. I am a Commander in Master Porky’s army, not a figure for you to share your personal qualm with --”

Yet he stops; his eyes scan a small pin affixed to her scarf. Globe like design with a lightning bolt. Gold. A little dirty -- a smudge of dark brown at the edge. Something comes up in his immediate scan. Franklin Badge: Heirloom.

“Where did you get that?” He asks, eyes gazing upon the badge. The tingling of electricity wanes as he finds himself looking at the woman's face again. It’s a smirk, but it’s incredibly pained.

“Your brother.” she says with loathing heavily laced. “Took it from your brother after he died in my arms. Thought he’d want me to have it. Especially considering how much Psi Thunder you were tossing at us.” And then her eyes narrow. “You have no idea, do you? You have no memory of him at all.”

“I’m afraid not --”

“Stop.” She orders. “This was such a stupid, stupid waste of time. I knew there’d be no getting through to you. He told me you were stubborn, but I never imagined you’d be this dense. Even as a robot. I would have thought something would have gotten through to you! God, not even hearing about how you killed Lucas is working.”

She steps away and he feels the ice loosening around his ankles somewhat. But he studies her. The name. Lucas. That was that boys name, the one Master Porky told him about. The one who was a threat to him. Lucas. He was that boy. He had Psi too, didn’t he.

“--God, you’d think that a twin would remember something,  _ anything _ about his brother! Especially when he’s responsible for killing him!”

He had blonde hair, striped t-shirt. Very similar face. He had been rather meek. Looked frail but he was quite the opposite. He was a threat to you, just as Master Porky said. Lucas. That was his name. He work what was called a Franklin Badge, a tool used for deflecting electricity. It came from his father. How...did he know that?   
  
Lucas.   
His name was Lucas.   
  
“--For fuck’s sake, man!” Kumatora is still on her tangent. “ _ You killed your twin, you absolute bastard!” _

Lucas.   
His name was Lucas.   
  
He stops. The ice around his ankles shatters finally, the effects of Psi Freeze wearing off as he steps away, backing himself into the wall. It hits him. It hits him like an ache. (He was thirteen years old. He loved his mother. He was lonely. He was shy). There is a weight that overcomes him as something clicks within his head and his heart. (He loved his dog Boney and his dad so much and he never gave up hope. He was so strong. He faced the world knowing he was alone. He was a child). He inhales sharply and suddenly, his gazes is focused on his hands. His eyes scan himself: Murderer. Killer. Monster.  _ Brother. Brother. Brother. Brother. Brother Brot-- _

His name was Lucas.   
  
He was his twin brother.   
  
And he killed him.   
  


Kumatora looks at him with something akin to what he suspects might be apathy -- something he’s more familiar with than anything else. But it shifts within a moment or so to that of satisfaction. Surely, this was not how she intended to get through to him, but apparently it worked, leaving the man in question, in a state of moral quandary and perplexion. Her hands clap together in an act of triumph. Not an applause, for sure, but certainly that of approval.

“Well, that worked out better than expected. For me, at least. Can’t say the same about you, but I think this is what they call karma -- hurts, huh? Guilt really sucks, doesn’t it?!” And she begins to laugh and then steps away from him, sinking into her couch to resume crunching on her snacks again, this time with the sound of victory between each crinkling of the bag.

“You call this a victory?!” he manages to choke out as he feels his weight begin to crumple as he slides down along the wall. Something, that he supposes is a heart, begins to ache inside of him and had he been capable of it, he wondered if he were about to cry.

Around the time he had turned, twenty-five or so, he had inquired about having parts of his body returned to their human state. By the time he was eighteen, most of his internal organs had been replaced with machines, with the intention of making him more machine than man. A cold, calculating commander with little regard for the feelings of others. But he was a curious individual, stubborn too, and he had begun to do research. If he were mostly machine, how could he appeal to humans, especially when he needed to order them around. He could not appeal to their fear, their anger, their desires or feelings. It was something he wished to be able to learn about. To manipulate. To  _ exploit _ . So after several years of being groomed to be unfeeling, uncaring -- he wished to learn how to feign caring, if only to help further the advances of the military. By the age of twenty-six, he had his lungs, liver and digestive tract replaced -- for the first time in his life, he could eat food again, although he didn’t need to. But learning how to taste things again was an experience.

Breathing again had been an experience as well. He’d had a ventilation system installed in place of a respiratory system, so having to learn how to relay signals from his brain to organic lungs once again had been a challenge. Now and then he would still find himself forgetting to breathe, although he had been informed that normal people would forget to inhale from time to time as well. What he had supposed was an entirely subconscious action, was not so subconscious after all. However, breathing was the first thing he had truly come to learn again. He had found that now, becoming organic once more, his breathing indicated how his body should react in various situations. Sometimes he would find himself holding a breath in when he anticipated something. His breathing would become labored after extensive periods of running, or during moments of high tension and anxiety. Breathing patterns, he would learn, were a first step in learning how emotions worked again.

Despite what many believed, he never actually lost his heart. It was still there. Beating slowly. In and out. Every now and then he would place his hand to his chest and feel it. Taking time to remind himself that despite the machinery, he was still a living human being. Somewhere in there. His heart was one organ that he never lost. He easily could have had that one replaced but the surgery for that one was so tricky, so complicated -- there was never an opportune time. He supposed, somewhere down the line, he had voiced his concern for losing his heart to the various operations he underwent, and perhaps, someone had some compassion and allowed him to function with the same one he’d been born with. Though, he supposed Master Porky wasn’t all too thrilled with the idea. However, a cyborg must still have human parts to be a cyborg. He was a chimera, as far as research pointed out, so he needn’t have every aspect changed. The strongest parts of both man and machine would be spliced together, and if for one second someone considered that the heart was not the strongest part of a man, they didn’t know how man worked.

By thirty-three, his organs were once again organic. Aside for those necessary. He’d had enough enhancements externally that mechanical organs weren’t required for him to be a true cyborg any longer. He liked to think that with these organs again, he could once more be closer to human.   
  
Even if that was quite the opposite of what Master Porky wanted.

He had been warned not to develop too many independent thoughts. Or at the very least, if he did, not to vocalize them in such a way that might pin him as defying the wishes of the military. Having some semblance of emotion was enough for him. But.   


As he sat huddled on the floor, an aspect of himself that he had never considered to be part of the human experience, started to manifest itself. It was called memories. None were quite stitched together, but there were patchy glimpses. Patchy, disjointed flashes; reminders of who he was before the army took him in. Nothing about himself. No, he couldn’t remember that. But he could remember the boy named Lucas.

He was waiting for some kind of cold reaction from Kumatora. Some bold, confident comment from her about how she had succeeded over him. But the phrase doesn’t come. Instead there’s a sigh from her direction as his brain had to process the matter at hand. The feelings. The single frames of memories. Who would have thought that just the accusation of being a killer would be enough to cause him to malfunction. But was this a malfunction? He opted to blame his organic chemistry for this moment of weakness. He would have to immediately invest in reversing the organic changes once he returned.   
  
“Hey,” Kumatora spoke up and he is able to bring himself back to reality momentarily to find that she’s standing in front of him, bent forward a bit so she can look at his face. “Take the helmet off. Lemme get a good look at the rest of you. I can only see part of your face like this.” He heeds the request, arms lifting as he grasps the sides of the helmet, lifting it from his head. His hair used to naturally spring back up when he removed the helmet, but it lay somewhat flat to his skull as the helmet is set aside. He gazes at her, and she studies him, noting the way he still sported a youthful appearance, despite the metal plate holding part of his jaw and skull together, flesh puckered and scarred at its edges. As far as she can tell, unbeknownst to him, she spots a few flecks of freckles that were commonplace on him, and his late brother. All that would detract from his youthfulness was the sagging bags beneath his eyes and the hollow, dullness in them. No eyes should lack a spark. But his did.

She studies him and after a moment she kneels in front of him, placing a hand upon his cheek. He jerks, wishing to withdraw from her but her expression tells him to remain still. In the past the only ones ever permitted to lay a hand upon him were engineers and researchers. Anyone else who dared touch him often wound up discharged instantly, or worse. He expects her touch to be rough, unfeeling -- but it’s soft. Warm. Welcoming. And he makes eye contact with her as her thumb delicately strokes his cheek, as if she were wiping away tears.

“I know the boy you used to be isn’t a monster.” she says quietly as she draws in closer, her hand falling away before each of her arms enclose around him, embracing him warmly. Her voice is soft, much different from the tone she had taken before. “Your brother knew that you weren’t a monster,” she whispered against his ear.

It was a bold, daring move. Anyone else would have been killed on the spot. Everything he had been trained for told him he should kill her for getting so close. For touching him. For threatening him. But it was as if his internal commands were being overridden by something stronger. Something human. And so he permits her contact and lets her hold him in the embrace. He tries to analyze the situation but his scan yields no appropriate results. Ordinary humans are designed to return the embrace, but he is quite the opposite of ordinary. So he allows her to take the lead. The first moments are tense, but his brain sends out the signal to relax his shoulders, and in turn relax his torso and accept the contact.

“Claus is still in you, somewhere.” She says. “Lucas died knowing you were him, but not knowing how to act…” Kumatora’s previously aggressive tone has been abandoned, leaving her words with a soft, ethereal chim to them. “But...I can tell you how to act. I can tell you how to make things right. If you’ll listen. If you can prove to me that you are still in there. You are not Him, Claus. He is not you.”

His arms fall limp at his sides, hands touching the floor as she speaks.

_You_ are not **him**.

**He** shakes **his** head, no... **he** doesn’t believe **he’s**   _that_ Claus, the boy from Tazmily. There’s too many factors at play that dismiss this. **He** had been in the care of the military for three years before Lucas had been noticed as a threat. Coincidences don’t happen like this. _You_ don’t like this.

Kumatora lets **him** go and pulls herself away to study **his** expression again. **His** eyes scan her once more, yielding results: Psi User, Subject of Illegal magic, Princess of Osohe Castle. Status: Trustworthy.

Her expression softens and _you_ see her smile during your study, hands holding _your_ cheeks again. “You look so much like him.” She says. (The scan yields a notice stating that her heart is racing). “You need to listen to me, I need to make things right. I promised Lucas. I told him I’d reach you, and tell you how to make things better.”

And clarity overcomes _you_. _You_ do not know for how long _you_ will have this grasp of _yourself_ , but _you_ know _you_ must act quickly. _You_ raise _your_ arms and place _your_ hands upon Kumatora’s forearms. _You_ inhale -- a truly human breath -- and exhale slowly. _You_ nod. _You_ nod, showing her firmly that _you_ understand. _You_ grasp the idea for a moment, and just a moment, that something is very,  _ very _ wrong in this world.

And **you** speak. **You** have not since spoken with clarity in a long time. And the words that come out are In a voice that is lower, calmer, but more lively than what is customary for **you:** “Tell me how.”

And her eyes light up. And she knows, somehow, she has reached **you**. She has reached _**Claus.**_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here, on your left ladies and gentleman, we have chapter 2.
> 
> I have no idea what I'm doing! :D Again, next to no editing because I'm not ready to mass edit.

The next steps are all in writing. Kumatora can only explain so much verbally before you begin to lose track of where she’s going. (She does not apologize for her brashness, but she does offer tea to you and a chance to settle before she explained the plan). But you have been able to ascertain something from her tangent. There is a world, an alternate dimension, where you and Lucas are orphaned, and are in desperate need of a caretaker. And this is where you need to go. She has developed an ability that allows her to send people to other worlds, something she had apparently been raised to learn, but had never quite embraced. She calls it Psi Meta. A gateway to other worlds.

It sounds familiar; though you conclude that is because your superior is from another world. You know, with absolute certainty, he is not a user of this skill known as Psi Meta.

But her request for you is simple. You need to become Claus again before she can send you there. There’s no way that world would accept you in your current state. This town cannot afford to be stricken with grief again. Not after losing two of their beloved citizens. (You asked, “Why not simply alter the world so the boys parents don’t pass?” Only to discover that two members of this family must always pass during this time. Some things are in the cards, some things can be altered.)

But you must first learn to become Claus again. You suppose, perhaps, having your organs restored to organic donations once again was quite proactive. Kumatora gave you a name. Someone in New Pork City you needed to seek out. He was not a resident, but he was a prisoner of war. You would have to access what you knew to be confidential information in order to find him. His name was Leder. He was a former Tazmily resident. He would be able to assist you in learning more about Claus. More about who you were.

As you leave, Kumatora approaches you near the exit of Osohe Castle. It’s as if she wants to see you off, but she doesn’t say anything. You and she stand a few feet apart from one another before she removed the small, brass Franklin Badge from her poncho, enclosing it within your hand. “I think, now that you’re coming to your senses, Lucas would have wanted you to have this.” she says softly. “Your father gave it to him while we were trying to stop you. It’s only fair it stays within the family. I’ve just had it for safekeeping.” And she steps back, her brows furrowed together, pointing at you the same way she pointed at  _ him _ . “Don’t disappoint me.”   
  


As you return to the craft, the soldiers you had requested the aid had both discarded their helmets, one having been playing with a small mouse-like chimera that was acting incredibly brazen with the soldiers. With your approach, they scramble, putting their helmets on again; they salute  _ him _ .

_ He  _ waves a hand, dismissing them. “At ease.” he says as you board the craft, taking a seat close to the window. Both of the soldiers board the craft quickly thereafter and  _ you _ come to your senses again. You have a lot of work cut out for you.

“So what was the tip, sir?” one of the soldiers asks, only to wince and let out a groan of “ouch,” as the other punches him in the arm. “I-I mean, if you’re allowed to tell us!!!”

“A conspiracy theorist.” you say as the craft begins its ascent. “It was hardly worth the trip out here. Just a rambling old woman who claimed she was going to fix the world.” You gaze out the window, watching as the partially charred, yet overgrown scenery of the Tazmily region shrunk below you. “It was a waste of time, sadly.”

And as the craft rose higher from the ground, you noted the features of the area -- as it all started to come back to you -- but a spark of yellow on the ground catches your eye. However, you stand in the craft and place a hand on the back of the pilots seat. “If you don’t mind, I need you to go back down. I have something I must do first.” Startled, but acting quickly, the pilot lands the craft again, and you are out the door before it can even properly touch down. Something pulls inside you. Something causes you to turn tail on the craft and start through the cemetery, your back to the craft, your back on Osohe Castle.

You pay no mind to the eerie atmosphere of the cemetery, the graves and the lined the terrain, but you veer to the left. There’s a path. And it comes to you naturally, as if your very heart knew the direction. It dawns on you, this was part of what Kumatora brought you here for. She brought you here so  _ you _ could make things right with  _ her _ .

As you ascend a hill, winding upwards to the top of the mountain, you are greeted with the glimmering warmth of shades of gold and saffron. Hundreds upon hundreds of small, floral suns gazing toward the sky, practically overgrown and swarming the grounds. Each one swaying gently in the warm, early autumn breeze. All of them, surrounding a single headstone, dusted with loose petals, scattered from the winds over the years. You approach the stone, perhaps somewhat apprehensive, but your heart yearns to grow closer. Next to the marker, a vase filled with brittle, decayed stems rattle softly. Although left to the elements, it’s as if nature itself did not wish to overtake this gravestone. So you kneel, your knees pressing into the grass before the stone, and you read the words engraved within.

“Wife of Flint. Mother of the twins Claus and Lucas. Daughter of Alec. May the beautiful Hinawa rest in peace here for all time.” And you sit in silence as these words resonate within you. You feel the empty, aching sadness of loss -- oh, you certainly had not felt that in ages -- bubble within you. But you cannot let it out. It is not that you have pride, is that you are unable. Your emotions are weak, although they can be tapped into.

You wonder, as the word, “Mom,” escapes your lips, if this means you’ll never be able to feel quite like you wanted to. If grief cannot do it, then what will? You extend a hand and touch the cool stone with your hand -- the human one -- and trace the letters of the words. It’s not enough. You withdraw and remove your glove, setting it upon your lap. When your bare hand touches the letters, the stark cold of the gravemarker shocks you and you let yourself process how you feel.

You cannot cry, but oh how you want to. You don’t think you are able to anymore. Perhaps you have a system installed to keep your eyes hydrated in ways that do not require tears. You cannot cry. You think it’s because  _ he _ cannot cry. Perhaps in time you’ll be able to again.

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” you manage to say as a gust causes the small field of sunflowers to rustle, sending a flurry of petals around the cliff side. “I let you down, didn’t I?” You sit in silence, the sound of only the breeze to accompany you. You know in your heart, your ever human heart, that Kumatora was right.

You don’t remember Hinawa. You’re sure in time you will, but at that moment, you did not remember her. But you remembered her love. You remembered that she died to keep you and Lucas safe. You remembered how much it hurt. You remember wanting nothing more than to avenge her. But this. . .this was not vengeance. She would not have wanted this. She would not have wanted to be avenged. You remember being loved by her.

If Kumatora had not convinced you that things had to be different. If she had not been able to make you see that this world was not kind. That this world was not right. If none of that had connected with you, the sight of your mother's tombstone certainly was. You realize, that no amount of machinery, no amount of brainwashing, no amount of rejecting humanity would be enough to dissolve the embrace of your mother’s love.

You sit in silence. Yet, you swear you hear someone whisper to you, “ _ You must be so exhausted,”  _ but you suppose, you’re only imagining things. But it was true. You were quite tired.

So tired that, perhaps you had not noticed the very soldiers you had asked to accompany you, paging someone back at the base as they tailed behind you. But what could they possibly say other than their commander was curious about a lone gravestone in the ruins of Tazmily’s cemetery?

(A lot more than you yet realized).   
  


* * *

 

When you return, there’s no fanfare, but there is the written instruction from Kumatora on a slip of paper. The name of the man you had to meet with was Leder. He was the utmost authority on the history of Tazmily. And in turn, was the authority on  _ you _ . So digging was required. But how to inquire about Tazmily while keeping the plan of action under wraps. You actually...knew a guy.

You dislike entering the officers of your subordinate commanders, especially ones that trained beneath you. But you open a door, a heavy oak one leading into an office that seemed better suited to a college student than a subordinate colleague.

With your entrance, in full military dress, a man a few years your senior in age scrambles, quickly discarding a video game controller on the floor before he struggles to his feet, pulling on his boots and saluting you awkwardly as he does so. His hair is dark, short and wisp, and he wears the expression that tells you that he doesn’t exactly care much about his job -- but you’re not here to reprimand him. He laughs, anxiously, but good naturedly.

“Commander, what can I do -- oof,” he falls in his attempt at saluting and pulling on his boot.

“Commander Fuel. If I may have a few moments of your time. I need to ask you about Tazmily.”   
  


Commander Fuel trained beneath you. How he got his position you are still absolutely unsure about. You just know he caught the eye of Master Porky one day and before you knew it, you had a subordinate. At first, he was awkward, having a hard time looking at you for more than a few moments, but you supposed it was due to intimidation. You knew that your persona was quite threatening especially to new recruits. It absolutely baffled you that he was going to be given his own faction. Sure, it was a faction affiliated with the equivalent of local police work and making sure citizens were up to speed with updated laws and regulations. Every now and then he’d be sent outside of the city to round up people who may have deserted the city, or were still refusing to come. But he was, for lack of a better term, a glorified police officer.

Fuel, from what you understood, was a former resident of Tazmily, although you could not remember anything about him. But you wondered, perhaps...he knew you. Now that your head was getting clear, you wondered if the reason for intimidation was because he recognized you as being Claus of Tazmily Village. You would find out the answer. Sooner rather than later.

As Fuel scrambles further, you have to gesture for him to cease. “At ease, Commander Fuel, I am here for personal matters. And -- “ you scan the room and decide -- better safe than sorry -- and pull a chair to a corner, climb atop of it, push aside a panel in the ceiling and reach inside where you finds a small control panel, which you promptly shut off, killing the power in the room. As you climb down, you even find yourself powering down your eye, just in case.

“Oh what the hell, I didn’t save!” Fuel announces loudly as he slumps on to his couch, his boot still only partially pulled back on. You sigh, uttering what you suppose is the best apology you can come up with. You don’t see much of a point in video games, but Fuel was visibly upset. The least you can do is apologize. He groans and stretches himself out on the couch, gesturing at his  _ incredibly _ unpleasantly kept desk, for you to take a seat. You would decline if you were not sure you may be here a while. “Why’d you do that for anyways?”

“I am here on personal matters and I don’t want anyone listening in.” you insist as you hesitantly take a seat on the chair, noting that it has likely never been sat in for more than a few minutes, but has a slightly...sticky quality to its arm rests. You make a mental note to shower (again) when you return to your dwelling later.

“Yeah, Tazmily, right?” he asks, reaching over the side of the couch to grab what appears to be a bag of pretzels (you wonder, just what it is about you that makes everyone think they can just...snack while you talk to them). “Listen, I left there when I was 15, I don’t remember much. It was a tiny ass hick town, everyone was creepy nice to one another. Lots of farmers and carpenters. We didn’t even know what money was before Fassad came along, kinda turned a lot of our lives around.”

“I see.” you listen, noting the part about Fassad. Perhaps you would need to speak to him during this investigation but the idea of having to approach him about anything was so risky. He made you uneasy and you disliked having to hear the trumpeting sound in his voice, and he always had the sickly smell of over ripened bananas lingering around him. “Do you remember anything in particular about the people there?”

You needn't be hasty in these questions. No need to ask specifics yet. See where Fuel’s natural diction took him. “Well, there were mostly older people, like, our age. There weren’t a lot of kids. I don’t even think there were even ten of us?” He begins to count on his fingers. “I don’t remember most of their names. I made most of my friends when we moved here. I mean there was me, Richie and Nichol, Butch and Biff, though they were a bit older than the rest of us, then there was Lucas and --” And he stops. And you notice how he stops, and his gaze is hardened and focused on you.

And you lean back in the chair, watching him -- your gaze, unlike his, is calm and understanding. You gesture your hand outward to him. “Go on. You can say it.” And you watch as color drains from Fuel’s face and you suspect. . .

“I-I’m not allowed to say it.” he says quickly as he gets up from his couch and starts to look around the room, as if he was looking something. You note that he’s begun to panic. Not scan needs to tell you this. A simple understanding of how people function is all it took. Had you not already turned the control panel switch off that acts as surveillance in the room, you would not have blamed his paranoia. You stand, and though you were not expecting him to crack so quickly, you’re at least pleased to see that this conversation would be resolved faster than anticipated.

“Fuel.” you say, dropping the formality momentarily. “I cut the power to the room so that you may speak freely. I’ve even turned off connection in my scanner in order to avoid any possibility they were using it to mine information.” In hindsight you ought to have done so when you met with Kumatora, just in case, but your livelihood in this moment was not as important as Fuel’s. You knew for certain, the job he held was supporting his family. He was the only one who worked and he never needed to worry for their wellbeing. If this information was going to jeopardize him, you were glad you could spare him the possibility of getting himself in hot water. You approach him and place a hand on his shoulder to cause him to stop in his frantic search for cameras or microphones. He stops in his search, his shoulders relaxing as he studies you over. You can sense that he’s seeing you. He is seeing Claus.

“I...got my job because I knew who you were. I was bribed.” he admits, his voice cracking as he spoke. “They didn’t want to risk me telling you anything about you, so they offered me a good position in close proximity to you. To watch you and make sure that you weren’t uncovering anything you shouldn’t know. I-I heard you went out for a tip today and I was told to tail you but before I could, you were gone and --” He stops. “You went there, didn’t you?”

“I did.” you answer in the affirmative and watch as he pales again. He swallows and he stares around the room, as if waiting for something else.

“How did you know where they put the main power box for the recording equipment.” he asks, still apprehensive.

“Do you really think you can be predominantly machine and not pick up on radio frequencies?” you ask, polishing your own brand of humor, pulling a nervous smile from Fuel. “Now, I need you to confirm one thing with me. And I think you already know what I am going to ask.” Fuel nods. “ _ Who _ am I?”

And the smile you see from Fuel is youthful. And in that moment you are looking at the fifteen year old boy from Tazmily village. The boy who you suspect may have been related by blood. His father’s name...was Lighter, wasn’t it? And your father...Flint. . .Their names corresponded. Were they...No, that seemed quite unlikely. Fuel wasn’t your cousin, was he? No, must be a coincidence.

“Your name is Claus.” Fuel says. “You and your brother Lucas were twins. You lived in the south part of Tazmily village with your mom and dad before she died. You disappeared going to find your mom and we...never found you.”

“That’s what I thought.” you say. And you feel yourself...actually smiling. It was a strange sensation, and the tugging of the muscles around your lips and into your cheeks tugged awkwardly. You couldn’t quite tell if the left side of your face had pulled into the smile either -- it was hard to form any sort of facial expressions with the metal plate holding you together. “Tell me who Leder is and where are we keeping him.”

And though Fuel had been smiling, his eyes go wide and he steps back, once more his anxiety coming forward. “I-I really don’t think I should be telling you that, Claus.” he says. “That’s like, some really confidential shit right there. I can honestly tell you that I know who you are, since I know the cameras and the mics are off, but if I tell you about Leder and where he is? They might kill the guy if he’s not dead already. You’re going too deep.”

“Fuel, tell me something,” you press the matter knowing you may have to dip into tactics you are not too keen on using. Manipulation and mind games if you have to, but you would much rather not. Those are for criminals. Not Fuel. “Do you like what we have done to this world? Do you like having to round up people who wish to live outside the city walls and punish them for expressing their dislike of the way we govern?”

“Well, I --”

“Do you like knowing that we’re imprisoning people against their will under the guise of a happy, perfect world? Do you know what we’ve done to people who resist?”

Oh, that one hurt to say aloud, but you know the truth behind your words.

“I...don’t even know what we do to those people, if I’m telling you the truth.”

You’ve seen innocent people, who all they wanted to do was ask why we lived within the walls of New Pork City when there was an entire world to live in, be thrust into cages and tortured until any fight in them was stripped away before they were tossed to the scientists for genetic splicing and chimerization. You had seen orphan children wandering the street, having lost their parents to some sort of experiment, scooped up and tossed into testing facilities. You had --

“You truly do not want to know.” you say to Fuel. “I have learned more today than I think I’ve learned in my years enlisted, and I will ask you again, who is Leder and where are we keeping him?”

 

* * *

 

You could not help but feel some concern and some compassion for Fuel. After you had eventually convinced him to give you the information you required about Leder, he came clean. Shortly after the new order for society had formed, Fuel had recognized you as Claus. And he had tried to approach you, amazed that Lucas’s brother was alive and wanted to reconnect. But before he could do so, he was apprehended by soldiers and taken in for questioning. At only eighteen years of age. Lighter, his father, did not see Fuel for several days, only for him to return home one day in full military dress announcing he had a job and the family was set as long as he kept his position.

What he neglected to tell his family was that he was being blackmailed. He was being given guaranteed employment, comfortable (if not luxury living arrangements) and many benefits with his position. But the catch was that he could not tell anyone of your existence. And how he wanted to tell the people from Tazmily. There were so many people who would be moved to know you were alive. But as time continued on, and as many of the former residents mourned Lucas, Fuel had learned that it was safest for them to never know that the masked commander that had taken Lucas’s life, was none other than his brother.

And you pitied him.   
  
You knew, even before your humanity began restoring itself, that there were many victims with the world the way it was. But your ability to feel any compassion for them did not exist before. But now, you could feel some sort of pity. Some heartache for those affected. The world was not right. It was wrong and it needed to be changed.

With Fuel’s eventual confession about Leder, you were able to ascertain that he was the records keeper for Tazmily. Anything and everything that anyone would ever need to know about the town was kept with him. Though getting him to talk was the hard part. No one had ever heard him speak, as far as Fuel knew. But he had warned you that Leder was knowledgeable. Somehow.

Leder’s location had only been disclosed to a few people, Fuel being one of them. Why Fuel? Because he was given on the responsibility of keeping track of the records. Although, he was not allowed to read them. You were given instructions by your former neighbor that Leder was located in a secret location through secret tunnels in the sewers, away from the surface world. The plan, as far as you understood, was in hopes he would eventually die of old age and neglect. You grimace, disgusted -- that was a new one, now wasn’t it?

Your day had been incredibly eventful thus far. Perhaps this is what some people meant by treating yourself on your birthday, but you hardly felt like it was a treat. It was exhausting and you truly longed to sleep for the rest of the day. But you had Leder’s location and you were on your way to finding him. He had answers that you had questions you did not even know of yet. You had unfastened your cape and left it to hang in your office, knowing that you would be kicking yourself later if you were to get it dirty in the sewers. You had supposed that you were trying to be stealthy at this point, even if stealth had not always been your strong point. You had this thing about flashiness and showing off. Maybe it was always ingrained in you -- was Claus this way too? You couldn’t be sure. Only time would tell.

But as you approached the elevators to leave the Tower, a lilting, and amiable voice chimed out to catch your attention. It was a familiar voice, and one that you almost consider to be a pleasant one to hear. And it belongs to one of the few people you opt to salute, even if he is ranked beneath you. Walking down the hall in similar military dress to yourself, although he is adorned with emblems and patches indicating a different branch of service. He is not a large man, but nor is he small, suggesting he probably ate quite a bit of junk food as a kid and never quite shook off the excess weight, but he’s nicely proportioned, dark, auburn hair partially slicked to the side, exposing an eye quite like your own. Dark red with a crosshair in place of a pupil for precise scanning. You suppose you say he was good looking. Or at least you feel as if you’re required to say that -- he’s your ex-partner after all. If you could truly call your former relationship that. 

His face is still boyish, hanging on to some of his youth -- perhaps his baby face was due to the aforementioned junk food. You suppose that there was something youth enhancing in the science behind cybernetic chimera attachments. You and your colleague approaching you were both of the same ilk. Of course, it’s to be expected with him -- he’s the head of that department. Both his arms, unlike your one, are robotic. In the time since he began here, he had both arms replaced in order to keep himself on par with the very chimeras he aided in creating. When he had first arrived, he had been working under Dr. Andonauts in chimera research and fabrication, but when he retired a few years earlier, your colleague, by the name of Neil Alleweitz, took over the position. And all associated ones as well.

As Neil approaches, he’s smiling brightly, a friendly, positive demeanor as he affectionately slips an arm around your shoulder, guiding you away from the elevator, gesticulating nonsensically as he walks you away. “Commander, we can’t have you dodging your biannual maintenance!” he laughs pleasantly. “I know it’s your birthday, but we did schedule for a tune-up today. You weren’t going to spend the entire afternoon dodging me, were you?”

You wish to point out. Your relationship ended positively.

Neil is cheerful; you don’t understand why. But he genuinely seems to enjoy the work he does, having deemed you his personal favorite project. Of course, you were completed now and the only thing to do now was to ensure that you were in working order. Biannual appointments to ensure that your arm, eye, facial ports and your... _ wings _ were in working order. Monthly appointments to clean the socket for your arm -- it was a bit tedious for you. But you understood the reasons behind it.

You sigh, waving a hand in such a way to dismiss his eagerness. “I was not doding you, Commander Alleweitz --”

“Neil! Come on, how many times do I have to tell you?”

A sigh. “ _ Neil _ .” You correct yourself. “I simply forgot. Although I may have electrodes to increase my thought processing speed -- your idea, might I add -- I still forget things. I am still partly human.” You note that you normally aren’t this quick to address your partial humanity in conversation. You suppose it has something to do with Kumatora’s influence. You note the spark of excitement in Neil’s eyes as you retort to him. He is genuinely interested in how your gradual inclusion of human organs again is affecting your ability to  _ act _ more human.

“What a great reaction, sir!” He says eagerly. “It seems that you’re really embracing aspects of being human again -- I wasn’t actually planning to run a reintegration reverse chimerization program when I first took over Dr. Andonauts’s work with you, but this is really fascinating. Who would have guessed that only a few years of adapting to organic matter again would give you this sort of confidence to integrate again, I really need to --” You raise a hand to cut off his overly eager tangent.

“ _ Neil _ .” You say his name again as he guides you down another hall toward a different elevator that will lead to the Andonauts-Alleweitz Research Facility. You find yourself feeling the tingle of what you know to be embarrassment whenever you have to call it by its abbreviation. “You’re getting ahead of yourself. This is nothing unusual for me.” You manage, in your movement through the hallway with him, to slip out from beneath his arm. He does not make an effort to put it back around your shoulders. “Perhaps you just haven’t heard me react like this in recent memory.”

Neil falls back behind you as he guides you into the elevator, pressing a button that registers a data match from his arm, that allows the elevator to ascend to a higher floor. “Of course,” He says softly. “It slips my mind a lot that you’ve been adapting to conversation among ordinary, untampered humans for a few years now. Sorry, I just get so excited when you show a glimpse of emotion.”

“Is it so odd if I am able to feel?” you find yourself asking in response as you dwell within the far back corner of the elevator. The words came to you, leaving you faintly surprised, enough so that Neil is able to recognize the sensation within you.

“Commander, are you confessing that you  _ are _ able to feel again?” he asks, leaning forward, only to back out of the elevator as it arrives at the facility. Neil steps aside so that you may exit after him. You once again dismiss his curiosity.

“Today,” you admit. “I’ve been feeling things exceptionally powerfully today. I’m somewhat overwhelmed by it all.” You follow behind him as you enter the research facility. Of all the places in this building centered around chimera research, this is by far one of the more humane one. It’s designed primarily for human-machine chimeras. People who have opted to become chimeras like yourself, like Commander Neil Alleweitz. Sometimes the facility is used for emergencies -- someone gets fatally injured or crushed? The Andonauts-Alleweitz Research Facility can save their life. Most employees have to sign a waiver stating whether or not they would prefer going to the Research Facility in the event of an accident or a hospital. The waiver makes the research option sound  _ far _ more appealing in many cases.

Throughout the facility, it almost gives off the impression of being an outpatient doctor’s office. And in some respects it was. However, you had seen behind the far doors of the office enough to know that often things look much nicer than they appear. Once Neil guides you through the curtained off patient rest areas, you pass through swinging double doors to a room cast entirely in darkness and shadow, aside for the cyan glow of screens lining the walls. Had you not been familiar with this room, you would have been intimidated. After a moment, Neil approaches a panel and the bright, fluorescent lights above flicker on above you. The room looks almost like a surveillance room, but it’s not for places. It’s for people. Anyone who elects to become a cyborg type chimera is hooked into the system of this room to determine where there might be required maintenance. It’s a diagnostic scan for living beings. Within the center of the room is a simple hospital bed where patients, like yourself will sit or lay down for their examination. Above the bed is what appears to be a suspended mess of cables, but anyone familiar with the setup knows it’s part of the computer that does its diagnostics.

You begin to unfasten the closures of your uniform’s coat and drape it on a visitors chair by the doors. Beneath your coat you wear a simple formal, pressed button down shirt that would appear normal until they examined your back. In the fabric of the shirt, long slits, professionally tailored stretch the length of the back. It is not one of your preferred enhancements. In your youth, you found the aesthetic of the addition to be rather cool, but as you aged, you found it embarrassing.

And as you sit on the edge of the examination bed, Neil reaches to the mess of cables overhead and pulls down a single one that he brings to the side of your face. He presses one of the switches on the metal place along your jaw and a panel opens up. “I know you hate this part, Commander, but I promise I’ll work as fast as possible.” Neil slides the cable into a port located in your jaw, and as he does, the power in the room slowly surges into blackness again before you feel the jolt of electric heat, humming as it trails down along your spine and through each of your nerves.

As if against your will, your arm flings out to the side, the panels on your hand and forearm peeling back and transforming, shifting into place as your entire arm from your elbow down takes the shape of a cannon. It is not the same cannon from your youth, but this one looks as if it were designed to completely disintegrate and dematerialize anything it was aimed at. Your arm does not fire, but it does become dangerously hot to the touch.

Then as if to make matters worse, as your eye glows bright, simultaneously scanning everything and malfunctioning at once, you feel it. The sharp, stinging slicing in your back and oh, how you  _ hate _ this.

You scream. You are no stranger to pain. Especially when it’s derived by shock. You are no stranger to the searing bite on your flesh as the metal slits in your back whir to life and from within your torso, monstrous, mechanical yet bone-like wings erupt from inside. There’s a splattering of blood on the bed (you had not pulled them out in quite some time) as scar tissue is torn open from their sudden, erratic removal from your back.

Then, as they open wide, a wing span of over twelve feet, the leathery like synthetic flesh that wove between them, knit together once more. And with a few slow, agonizing beats, they flapped. And you were truly, truly winded.

It never gets easier.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So we have a new title! The reason for this name will become obvious as time goes on!
> 
> Once again, I never really edit my stuff much. So forgive typos.  
> I think I've broken many a reader recently.
> 
> CW: Character Death

You never use the wings anymore. You detest their very presence. They hurt to remove. They hurt to use. They cause you agony. They only remain acceptable when they’ve been folded into their encasement in your back. You would give anything to have them removed, but they’ve become permanently affixed to your rib cage. Removal of such, even by a hand as skilled as Dr. Alleweitz, would certainly kill you. You do not currently have a death wish.   
  
Neil’s hands were gentle as they examined you, ensuring that everything is in working order. Perhaps his touch is too gentle, and you wish to speak up, reminding him that you’re not a doll for him any longer. You were not a void. Surely, you were something of a pet project to him, having devoted most of his time and energy in your well-being, but since you were deemed to be  _ perfected _ at this point in time (or rather as perfect as you would allow), there was no need for him to witness you as often as he used to. In your youth, and his -- he was always there.

You had reached adulthood when he came on the scene. He was Dr. Andonauts apprentice. He was an incredibly astute, intelligent young man, baby faced and whimsical, but it was such a strange opposition to his scientific endeavors and achievements. You cared not recall much of those days. As he matured, he became quite a likable young man. He considered himself your friend. You weren’t sure you could agree. You had never had a friend before. He was. Something.

As your wings close back up, Neil’s hand, cybernetic much like your on runs along the underside of your jawline, turning your gaze upward before he withdraws and begins to remove the cable affixed to your face. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?” He asks gently, a melody in his voice as you shudder. Not from the touch but the ache in your back from the throbbing of your wings being extended for such a period of time.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” you gasp out in annoyed response.

“Asking stupid question is how I got to where I am now,” he says as you finally are able to relax. Neil has retrieved a small clipboard and begun scrawling on it before he hands it to you -- a dry cleaning token for your shirt. You must have bled a lot. “But that’s good to note, you can recognize out of character questions, you’re definitely learning sarcasm again. Not my first choice of emotional states for you to understand, but you’ve shown enough signs!” He lowers the clipboard and sets it upon a table and leans against a counter, watching as you start to collect yourself. With your back to him, he makes a hissing sound. “Yikes, we may actually have to schedule an appointment to extend your outlets…There’s more blood than I thought…”

You try to not make your displeasure too apparent. “Well, my schedule is booked for the next six weeks at least.” You lie quickly. “I can’t be dropping everything for appointments with you every few weeks. We’re not a --”

“That’s not what I’m suggesting, and you know that. For the sake of professionalism, I ceased and you know damn well that I’m talking to you as an engineer, not. . . _ me _ .” Neil’s tone is sour and he retrieves his clipboard again. “I’ll schedule an appointment with Dr. Andonauts son. He can do an outpatient procedure to extend them.”

“He isn’t employed by us, you know that’s against regulation.” You insist quickly, shooting down the engineers request. “We’ll schedule nothing of the sort for the time being, we’ll discuss this later.” You retrieve your coat and shift it back on to your shoulders, paying no mind to the very probably blood dripping down your back.

Bleeding was a sign you were more human than not.  
  


They told you today was your thirty-third birthday. And frankly, it actually felt like one. You knew birthdays were supposed to involve cake, and gifts, and festivities. And today, you actually obtained some of the aforementioned concepts. Except the cake. The cake was very much something you were interested in, but you would not be upset. Not that you could truly understand that kind of disappointment. But festivities? Oh you certainly got that. A trip across the islands to learn your origins. And gifts? Where to start?

Perhaps the soft, murmur of a heartbeat in your chest, not stirred by mechanical impulses.

 

You return to your office. You scan the pristine layout before you pull your desk chair over to the center of the room, climbing atop to push aside the ceiling tiles to press a switch on a small, black box. It’s for surveillance, as most offices have. You normally do not care much if you’re being monitored. But you choose to shut it off. You decide that you need some privacy. Your eye powers down, reducing your vision for a moment and you are left to bring your chair back over to your desk.

You sit, all too aware at the weight of yourself as a living person. You gaze at the ceiling, paying no particular notice of any details. And you find yourself not just familiar with the weight of living. But the weight of pain.

You had not realized how badly you had wanted to feel again. It had been a small desire, but not one you were pursuing to the point of forcing the sensation of emotions to return. But it only took your birthday for it to come back to you. Your arms hang over the rests of the chair, your legs stretched out before you as you truly slouch in place, allowing yourself to feel what you realize is grief. It’s a warm, flood through your chest. It begins at your heart and ripples through you like the hum of electricity as it reaches the other side before it trickles down your arms and settles in your fingertips. And then, it rolls down along your stomach and legs, pooling in your feet. In a bittersweet way, it almost feels like an embrace. Like your very core has decided that it’s time for you to let it in.

You did not know for whom you were grieving. Lucas? Your mother? Your father? Perhaps you were grieving for yourself. Maybe you were grieving for the world. For Tazmily. For the families and lives that you knew had been ripped apart.

You cannot cry. You know you are physically incapable of it. But you would like to. You suppose in a way, this is how you can learn how to be human again. Maybe it’s what’s keeping you from being that way. But you don’t know much about these ethics. You just know...that your name is Claus. You were abducted as a child. You were turned into a cybernetic soldier for the sole purpose of acting as a Commander and Toy Robot to the Pigmask Army. You only ever existed for one thing.   
  
To keep order.

But now that you knew? Now that you knew. . .

You lean back in your chair and your gaze focuses on the framed needle behind you. And you receive a terrible idea. A terrible, horrible idea. But it would be wonderful. But. Your heart sinks...what would  _ that _ accomplish. You would just cause more people to suffer. More families to lose one another. More cases like your own. Though you cared not for Fassad...you  _ could _ always just. . .pull the last needle. But then.

That was the easy way out.

Your attention turns to the ceiling again. You press one of the switches on the side of your facial panel and begin dialing a number. You do not often call people. You don’t have relationships outside of work. But you keep his number for emergencies.

“ _ Alleweitz Speaking _ .”

“I owe you an apology.” you say. “It was improper of me to speak harshly. You are correct. I should undergo an outlet extension. Please make an appointment at your earliest possible convenience.”

You hear the excitement in Neil’s voice as he thanks you for the apology and informs you he’ll “ _ contact Jeff right away! _ ”

It was the least you could do. You wouldn’t be around for the appointment anyways.

You think, momentarily, you’ll miss the guy when you leave this world. Maybe, you would call Neil Alleweitz your friend.

How strange.

**_You’re smiling_ ** **.**

* * *

You had decided it was best to return home. Your birthday, for the first time in your life had been eventful. And you knew that rest was needed. Your trip to meet with the man known as Leder would wait until morning. You do not doubt that you’ll be able to locate him. 

For a cyborg, sleep does not equal the same thing. Sleeping is not just the opportunity to refresh the organic parts of one’s body, but the technologically advanced parts as well. For you, a bed that simply operated as a charging deck was the best solution. Of course, you could always remove your arm and charge it manually, or power down the scanner of your eye and let your body charge it from your own impulses. The same could be said about the rest of you. If your organic body was adequately functioning, so was the rest of you. You existed as a perpetual motion machine of power -- but only for yourself.

Home is not a home so much as it’s barracks. Glorified, fancy barracks. But barracks. While many of the other soldiers within the military had homes they could return to, you were given the presidential suite of military housing. Not that you cared much, nor needed it. You were pampered, but it was a wasted effort. A cyborg, who is wired into everything, has no need for a television. Nor a happy box. It does not affect you. You don’t need stimulation the same way most others do. Why you needed a lavish, leather couch was beyond you -- oh, but it was so comfortable. Perhaps not. No, this was perfectly acceptable. So plush. . .

Of course, when you woke up on the couch in the middle of the night, that was certainly causation for you to admit that no matter how comfortable a couch, beds were always idea. You had a rather risky plan in mind for the next day and this was no time to get inadequate rest on a couch, no matter how comfortable it was to take a brief respite on.  
  
  


You are naturally programmed to wake up at 5:30 in the morning each day, with an exception of 7 a.m. on days where you are not required to arrive in your office. Today you wake at 5:30, but you fully intend to arrive later to your office, citing a malfunction to cover trail. You’re sure Neil will cover for you. He seems intrigued by your actions as a human, rather than a machine. Of course, you understand his motives (somewhat) behind his willingness to focus on you.

You opt not to go in uniform. You know that decision is unwise. If you were to go through the sewer system in uniform, surely you would come out wreaking of a stench, and quite likely stains. You shudder. You hate messes. You had sludge, slime, dirt, muck -- if you were capable of nausea, you would feel horribly sick.

That was a lie. You’ve been capable of nausea since you had a stomach donated as part of your humanity restoration. You feel it twist and you feel the need to vomit -- you don’t. But you certainly make a note to bring a nose plug. You retrieve a military rain slicker and dress in what you suppose might be casual pants and you choose your previous year’s issue of outdoors boots -- you cannot risk the possibility that you may accidentally wear these clothes again and tip someone off to your ventures.

You leave without your helmet and instead keep the hood of your jacket up. You may have inadvertently viewed the forecast before you selected your clothing as an early morning rain had sprouted out over New Pork City. It’s brisk and cold, nothing like the warm autumn day prior. It was clearly the weather that implied that winter was around the corner.

The homeless would be suffering soon. . .

You brace yourself as you walk toward the entrance, located behind a series of residential building. You don’t often leave the confines of your quarters or the tower. It’s nice to step out from time to time, but you don’t know how to navigate much of the city on your own. It’s almost refreshing to see some of the city when the residents were still waking up, located in their homes, dressing and preparing for the day ahead. There was a melancholy to the streets of the city. The people living here were not here because they wanted to be. At least in theory. They were coerced into uprooting their lives and lured to the city to be part of King Porky’s empire. You had been under the impression that it was for the best. But when you returned yesterday, you were suddenly aware of the bleak outlook worn on the faces of each person in your company. Very few really wanted to be here…

Your boots splash through a puddle as you pass the first person of the day. A tired looking young man dressed in a hooded peacoat, hood drawn up much like yourself. Strands of auburn hair fall in his face as he approaches what he looks to be a coffee shop. You stand and watch him fumble with his keys momentarily as he stands by the door.

“Hey.” he says firmly. “We don’t open til 7, beat it.” His tone is forceful, but you suppose he may just be tired. There’s a familiar sounding twang to his voice. (Tazmily…? You cannot help but wonder.) You shake your head, waving off his jeer, commenting that you were only passing by. He makes an underhanded comment about ‘goddamn outta uniform pigmasks, patrolin’ all hours o’ the day.’   
  
You dismiss it; you understand his frustration and continue on your way.  
  


You stave off the sudden, sinking gurgling in your gut as you navigate the route you’d obtained from Fuel that would lead you to the easiest path to the man named Leder. The sewers welcomed you inhospitably as the odor of waste and rubbish infiltrated your nostrils almost without even a breath. You feel that lurch in your gut and fish for the small, plastic plug to cover your nose -- you honestly were surprised that you were unable to turn off your sense of smell. You swallow thickly, studying the handdrawn map Fuel gave you (god his handwriting was  _ atrocious _ ) and began to make your way haphazardly along the side paths lining the channels for...you didn’t want to think about what was in the water. Not at all.

A small alarm goes off in your mind. It’s informing you that it is 6:30 in the morning. You had planned to be down here no later than 7:30. That would give you adequate time to return to your barrack to shower off the stink and change your clothes for the day ahead and enough time to approach Neil with your suggested excuse for your lateness. The sewers were like a maze and you found yourself walking in circles, retracing your steps, hopping over the channels (oh god that was truly terrible) and crawling up ladders until --

You actually are able to remove the plug from your nose. You found yourself at a door and upon opening the door, you were led to what appeared to be the ruins of a motel, partially underground. Wallpaper peeled around you and you could hear the creak of wood, and the hum of people moving about on the streets above. The smell isn’t much better. Although it’s tolerable. You scan your surroundings -- trash, rubbish and scattered signs of disrepair line the motel halls, but you’re drawn to a staircase, almost fearful that the stairs will give way beneath your feet. But you find that as you head up the stairs...the next hallway is impeccably cared for. As if it were frequently occupied and traveled through. But as you study the corridor. You notice familiar equipment. Military grade. Nothing that particularly catches your interest -- carts, a few labeled garbage cans. But something tells you, as you gaze at Fuel’s map. . .you’ve made it.

Before you is a door. Unremarkable. Unsuspecting. But you feel a buzz in your chest -- not the hum of electricity, but the buzz of anticipation. You grasp the doorknob, ignoring the slightly grimy but gritty texture of the brass knob. . ah. As you turn it, it falls to the ground with a faint clink as the door slides open, the knob rolling forward into the room, leaving you to revel at the contents of the room.

Before you, in the rooms center, standing up through a hole in the ground was an elderly man, perhaps in his mid to late seventies, standing perhaps three meters high. He is hunched over, perhaps just almost too tall for the room, his feet beneath him on a lower floor. Surrounding him are hundreds upon hundreds of books, some open, some closed, some waterlogged and bloated, the pages likely unreadable. The man, enormous and old as he may be turns to face you as you enter. He lifts an arm through the hole and pushes up a pair of coke bottle, round glasses and his wrinkled lips form into a faint, almost hopeful smile.

“Ah, Claus.” he speaks softly, voice oddly melodic and perhaps almost ethereal. You lower your hood, noting that he recognizes you immediately. He smile brightens as he studies your face, as if seeing you was the spark of light he needed to get through the next day.

“I’ve been waiting to meet you.”

The man known as Leder is not what you expected him to be. You had expected to encounter something along the lines of a surly village chief. Not a sweet, yet enormous, elderly man cramped in a motel below the streets. Although hunched over somewhat, he seems to have little difficulty moving from his spot. You study him as he begins to select a few of the books scattered about the room, opening them to clearly marked pages, perhaps as a means to remind himself of something.

“Leder, I presume.” you ask, making an effort to hide the cold twang that you often found was natural in your voice.

“Why, yes, that’s me, Claus.” the man says, voice cracking as he spoke. “Dear, me. Seems I have not had to speak for quite some time. This may be rough on these old vocal chords…” He smacks his lips together a few times, but not in the way most elderly do, where you can see bits of their gums sticking together, but in the sense that the man was truly thirst, and you suspected dehydrated. Possibly in need of an IV drip.

Ah. No, you suddenly understood something as you watched as he shakily reached for what appeared to be a pitcher of rather stagnant water. You suspect that it’s been awhile since someone came to check on him. Any evidence of food seemed to be long since eaten and. Ah. The way he moved. The shuddering of his limbs as he weakly sipped the water.

“Mr. Leder, sir,” you speak up, tone soft and as polite as you can muster. “Are you dying?” The man licks his lips but he does not seem to drink much as he sets down the remaining water. His voice comes out delicately, moreso than you had expected.

“Why, I believe that is a correct assumption…” he notes. “I very well may be.” You hear him laughing. “I do believe, it would be no surprise if after we speak today, I draw my last breath. I’ve been waiting here for quite some time for you or your brother to arrive. I must say,”

You hold your breath, wondering if this dying man was about to scold you for your misdeeds, done when you were not yourself.

“It’s truly unfortunate what they had you do to him; it is not your fault. Not yours, Claus.”

You feel a tingle in your chest (in your heart?). Your hand rests upon you chest, feeling the thrum. Ah. So. That was relief, was it? You hear Leder move as deftly as he could to open another book, the flipping of the pages beginning. “Where to start,” he murmurs. “I suppose the beginning is always the best place to begin a story, isn’t it?”

He smiles at you, scraggly unkempt beard dragging on the floor by your feet. You hadn’t ever found yourself in a position to say you had seen a wise smile before, but this would be the first moment you can think of. “I think that might be best.” you agree.

“Claus,” Leder says opening a book. “I wish I could have someone record all this for you should you forget, but there is one thing you must know. It is that someone must carry this knowledge with them when I am gone. I believe that person must be you. I have no doubt you will make good use of it.”

“I understand, I can record it myself. I’m equipped to do such a thing.” You assure him as you press your fingertip to the side of your temple. You feel a switch click and feel the sensation of audio being recorded from the silence of the room. “I have many questions, Mr. Leder --”

“And I am about to answer each and every one.”

And so, Leder spoke. He told you a story that you almost wanted to compare to that of a child’s fairy tale. Something you may have had read to you as a child as you and Lucas were tucked in for the night. A story of a world that ended and its survivors boarded a white ship to travel to the islands where you lived in this very day. A world where the survivors had their memories wiped so that they may not commit the misdeeds of their predecessors. The survivors were you and yours. Your family. Your neighbors. Your childhood friends and classmates. 

The survivors had chosen the Nowhere Islands as their home. They were refugees who had found the one place left in existence where they could live despite calamity. The survivors had wanted to enter a world free from hurt, and hate, and spite, and pain. They wanted to live in the world of the ideal. A world where all people were good, and kind, and just. People who would never know hardship. 

Until Porky arrived.   
Er, your king. Right.   
He saw the rights and the beauties of this world after his exile from all other worlds and times and he chose to make this world his own. It was the world at the end of all worlds where peace could be protected and maintained. And well. You knew this part rather well. You knew that he had brought people from different places and times. You knew how he wanted to play with your world. Your home. To make the world his own sandbox to fuel his own needs. You were one of those play things. 

And his voice steadies and quiets a bit as the story begins to wind down. “We tried to stop him, and in some respects we did. The final needle was not pulled, but he still won.” Leder licks his lips again and he lifts one of the books from the piles. It does not appear to have been opened in quite some time. Weakly, he lifts the tome from the floor and offers it to you. “But I believe you can reset his little game. I. . .” He draws in a shuddering breath, a wheeze coming in response from having spoken so long. “Hear you have spoken with Princess Kumatora. She’s why you’re here, isn’t she?” You offer a nod. “She is more right than you will know until you heed her advice.”

“She isn’t lying?” you ask as you take the book, beginning to open its pages. Leder’s hand presses on yours, stopping you from opening it.

“You’ll know when to open it.” he advises. “She has no reason to lie. She loved your brother and loved this world as her mother’s taught her to. It’s her duty as the last of the true Magpie’s to keep these islands safe. If there is anyone rightfully left to see to it that this world is freed from Porky’s hands, it would be her.”

“Do you know her personally?” you ask as you slide the book into the pocket of your jacket. “You speak like you do.”

Leder cracks a weak smile. “You are now the third person to know this story.” he says. “She knows every word.” The question isn’t entirely answered but you suspect he’s running low on energy.

It’s becoming evident to you as you stand before him, that this is not just energy he is losing for the day ahead. No, it’s energy to live. “Mr. Leder,” you speak quietly. “I am not sure why now is the time for me to return to this world Kumatora informed me of. I am not going to question it’s necessity, as I’ve been feeling myself trickling back to the forefront of my mind since she and I spoke, but why now? Why not sooner? And is this truly the best course of action? Could we not just have --” You find it hard to admit aloud the idea that Porky should be killed. You find it impossible to say it aloud.

“Some damage cannot be undone, young Claus.” He speaks. “I suppose she had to wait until you and she were both ready to make the move. Using her gift to open a rift between planes may be quite exhausting...Perhaps there. . .” Leder steps back and you watch as he leans against the edge of the hole in the ground. There is a loud cracking sound as he begins to lower himself down through the hole and sit upon the ground. You climb your way down the opening in the floor and join him on the lower level. As he sits, legs outstretched, he has his back resting against the far wall, his hands, resting in his lap.   
  
Ah. . .   
  
You approach his side. You don’t know how to handle a situation like this. But something in your gut yanks at you. You lift one of his hands into your own, organic one. You hold his hand. You squeeze it to reassure him that you have not left his side.

“Perhaps. . .” he whispers, his voice just as hoarse as before, this time more gravelly and guttural. “Your . . .white ship. . .is ready to sail.”

Your timer goes off. You shut it off. Time be damned.   
  
And you remain by Leder’s side. It only seems fair.

His grip loosens. You recall, again, how sadness feels. No. . .it’s different.   
Ah. . .   
  
This is called grief.

           grief / _gr_ _ēf_ /  
              noun  
                     deep sorrow, especially that caused by someone's death.   
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey.
> 
> UPD8
> 
> Get it. Because it's Homestuck day.  
> Credit to characters for Commander N goes to cosmitasia  
> And Hailey Andonauts goes to navochao
> 
> Thank you IMMENSELY to them both for letting me use their creations in this story!

_ “So the old man finally kicked it, huh _ ?” you hear Kumatora’s voice in your mind as you step from the shower of your residence. The scent is still on you, but you are quite certain it’s only because you’re so attuned to it now. You begin to dress -- a notice went out with a request for formal wear today. Much to your dismay. Of all the days to have the lingering of stench on you.

“Can you hear me?” you speak aloud in response as you shake free water from your hair as you pull on the Formal Grade Military Trousers you had been supplied with at your last annual protocol hearing.

“ _ Yeah, but don’t stress speaking. I can hear ya if you talk in your head, too. So people won’t look at ya like you’ve lost your mind if they see ya talkin’ to yourself. Oh. I mean -- _ ” she begins to laugh. “ _ I mean, I can totally only hear you if you talk aloud. Everyone’s gonna hear you talk to someone who ain’t there --!’ _

“Your humor’s wasted on me, you realize?” you comment as you begin to button up your shirt. The first of what you expect to be several messages asking about your whereabouts come in. You blink the message away and begin drafting a response with your prosthetic arm, typing in midair as if using a keyboard. “Besides, you already made it evident that your psychic link to me allows for mental communication, and my voice is not required.”

“ _ Damn it. Okay fine. So. Yeah. You can talk to me from your head too. That’s how telepathic PSI works. Good to see it actually can be used on someone as braindead as you _ .”

“I’m not braindead.” You reply as you find yourself, as usual, haphazardly attempting to tie a tie.

“ _ Ugh, look it through the middle where the two sides overlap and pull it through the knot -- there ya go. _ ”

“Thank you.” You announce as you clip the tie in place and sit on the edge of your bed, lacing your boots. “Why do you need me.”

“ _ I felt Leder pass away. And that’s...not ideal honestly. I knew he was old, but they really must have been treating him something awful. _ ” 

“Were you and he close?” you ask, tying the first knot.

“ _ I’m not sure if I would call it close. But he and I were linked a few years back. I had wondered what happened to him after, well, you know. But he was the one that taught me what I needed to know about the world before we all came here. _ ”

“Do you believe it?” you ask, knotting the second boots laces. “The part about us living through the end of the world and coming out in a new world?”

“ _ I have no reason not to. My mom’s always had instilled lessons into me suggesting another world. And with King Fatass being from another world too, and most of the people in that city being from somewhere else? It only makes sense to me. . .And if we could travel to a new world once -- _ ”

“There’s nothing stopping us from doing it again.” you finish for her, getting up from the edge of the bed to approach your closet where you open it to find various coats of different colors. 

Commanders of your rank typically are required to wear dark grey or navy, with white utilized for formal occasions. There are two other Commanders beside yourself. You only know one. A man a year or so younger than yourself, dark hair, claims to be from another world himself. He has a preference for the blue uniform, so you allow him that luxury. As far as you are aware, he is only cybernetic. He is not a victim of circumstance. But as you learn more as the seconds tick past, you cannot help but wonder. He goes by N. You do not know his name.   
  


“ _ Atta boy! You got it! Now here’s the thing. The PSI I have? It’s not stable. I need something to help me out. I hear there’s someone in that creepy tower of yours that probably has the tech to keep PSI Meta stable long enough for me to get you through to the right world. I’m going to need you to do some digging.” _

“How long do I have?” you ask, fastening the white uniform’s buttons through their holes. “I still  _ work _ you know.”

“ _ You really are the definition of living to work, huh?” _

“How long?” you repeat again.

“ _ Three days. We have a new moon coming up and everything my visions are telling me is that your portal is going to appear where the moon is _ .”

“That’s not enough time, Kumatora.” you say, replying to another message asking you to hurry up. “I don’t know many people well enough to know about who has what technology to assist in an  _ interdimensional portal being opened _ .”

“ _ Time to start making friends then, buddy! I’ll come check on ya later, Bonnie needs to go outside.” _

And as you feel the link between you and her die out, you find yourself just muttering the word ‘buddy’ for a moment before you heard the shrill chiming of a  _ doorbell _ . Clearly, it was never used before this very moment with the way it whined, out of tune and hollow. Something you had not ever really expected to hear in your residence.

Perhaps, the best course of action was to simply open the door, act as if you were already on your way out. You were, weren’t you? It would be smooth. Easy.   
  
Of course, when you do so, you stand poised, overlooking the person at the door with such an expression, had it been anyone else you would have intimidated them into scurrying away. But instead, with shoulders hunched, the very doctor responsible for each and every bit of your operations.

“Dr. Alleweitz.” you greet him as he straightens up. All engineers and doctors are required to wear red on formal occasions. “Why are you at my residence?”

“Ahaha, Project R,” he begins his expression sheepish, positively apologetic for disturbing you. “See, ah, the  _ King _ sent me himself. I don’t think you got the memo, huh? There’s a formal meeting between the King and his immediate staff. It went out around seven this morning, it was kinda last minute. But we all have to meet in his chambers for debriefing, like, uh, right now.”

“And why did he send you and not contact me himself?” you ask as you step past Neil to enter the hallways, immediately moving in a quick stride down the path toward the elevators to the upper portion of the towers.

“He, uh, mentioned something about you leaving his message ‘on Read’ and not responding as requested.” You hear Neil’s footsteps behind you as you press your palm to the panel of the elevator door to summon it to your location. “And, I’m the only one who knows your actual home address.” You exhale heavily as the doors begin to open and Neil stands next to you, yammering to himself about how he was only doing as ordered. You lift a hand to silence him as you step upon the lift.

“You act so nervous when we’re alone.” you comment as the elevator rises, but before Neil can speak, you hear a voice crackle out over the elevator speaker.

“ _ Took ya long enough?! I thought you were a robot and were supposed to be smart and follow my every order! We have some suuuuuper important stuff happening today! You better get your shiny behind up here immediately! What stopped ya anyways --” _

“Th-that would be my fault, sir!” Neil announces, at attention for absolutely no one. “During routine analysis I must have accidentally overridden his alarms and response mechanism! It was my own negligence that led to this upset! My sincerest apologies, your majesty!”

_ “Mmmmm you’re lucky I’ve still got use for you!” _ the voice echos out.  _ “Just hurry it up already! I don’t like waiting!!!!” _

The voice fizzles out and Neil relaxes, although he still looks perplexed. “You didn’t have to take the fall for that.” you inform him, knowing the ride up the nearly one-hundred floors was going to take some time. “I was fully aware of what I was doing this morning, of course I had assumed the message from him was my alarm and I dismissed it.”

“Not like you to actively sleep in, Commander.” Neil says politely. “You’ve been strange yesterday, are you sure there’s not something I can assist with?” You rest against the back corner of the elevator, arms crossed and eyes closed.

“I’m fine, Dr. Alleweitz --”

“Neil.”

“ _ Neil _ .” You correct yourself again. “I suppose my own mortality has been on my mind since yesterday. Birthdays don’t affect me the same as others considering my longevity as a cybernetic individual. I understand that I am  _ young _ but youth is not a prerequisite for a long life.” You find it strange that you have made sense of this feeling as easily as you had.

You suddenly recall the feeling of resting in someone’s lap. The heavy weight of pain coursing through your body, but the strange, pleasant lightheadedness of sleeping after a long, exhausting day.

“Those feelings a normal for anyone -- organic or synthetic.” Neil says. “Sadly, death is something we all must accept. It happens to us all. Well,” he gestures vaguely at the speaker. “Most of us. Some people just don’t perish, no matter, no matter how...much we might. . .” His voice falls. “ want them to. . .”

You lift your head up, noting the way Neil’s voice trails off and the words that follow after. You study him from across the elevator, noting the way his hands have started to comb through his hair, nervous and apprehensive. “Dr. Alleweitz, er, Neil -- if you are admitting to conspiring against the empire, you know I can’t take that lightly.”

His hands raise and he steps back, pressing his weight into the wall. “I’m not! I wouldn’t dream of it! I’m quite happy working here! I get to do the kind of work I’ve always dreamt of! And I get to work in proximity to you and the other Commanders and that’s a dream come true!”

But, why should you care? You. . .had conspiracy in your mind too.

“ _ Oh, oh Claus -- I like him. Keep your eye on him. I think he might be able to help you _ .” You hear Kumatora speaking to you again. Impressive considering that most cellular devices couldn’t even work in elevators.

“Neil.” You ask as you watch the floor number tick from seventy-nine to eighty, trying to think of the best way you could utilize this moment of (would you call it weakness? No. perhaps fragility? No. . .) inspiration to assist you. You rack your brain. You think to the morning. You think of what Leder said to you.

“Yes, sir?” he answers as your eyes fixate on the flashing red numbers.

“Do you know anyone who might have interest in white ships?”

The floor switches from eighty-five to eighty-six, and in that switching Neil’s eyes light up. “Oh! Dr. Andonauts has one! I mean, the lady Dr. Andonauts, not my predecessor. His wife. She’s in the interstellar dimensional studies wing. I don’t think she’s retired yet. Though, last I heard she was planning on it! She has one of those ship in a bottle things!” He seems almost delighted to bring this up. “I heard her son’s partner made it for her as a gift, really sweet gesture. Really nice guy, I told you about Jeff, right? He and I usually --”

You raise your hand as the elevator slows and eventually comes to a stop, the doors opening to a virtually spotless white corridor, black granite tiles lining against the wall before crawling upwards to form an arched gateway over silver, metal doors, held shut by a single panel in its center. The halls only lead to either end, each side to a restroom and nothing more. You step off, Neil at your heel, muttering something about how he wished the king would invest in a gender neutral bathroom at this point -- there were enough people working here who needed it.

The panel to the door required a multitude of activations. First, each hand. One for the prosthetic. One for the organic hand. Second, a retinal scan of both eyes. Third, a blood (or in the case of some, coolant) sample. Forth, voice recognition.

“Masked Man; Project R.” you speak into the microphone as Neil finishes his portion of unlocking for himself as well. “Requesting entrance.”

There’s a burst of steam as the panel slides behind a small latch on the door as rubber seals release and the doors begin to crank their ways open, folding into their enclosures to either side of the archway. The steam suddenly becomes cool and frigid as you walk through it, Neil close behind. Of course it’s only to be expect to be so cold in here.   
  
This is the King’s throne room, and he is a living corpse after all.    
  
  


The throne room is a room of exquisite vacancy. It’s sectioned off from the rest of the tower, from the rest of the halls and chambers directed to the King. It’s a floor in between floors so the unauthorized would not be able to access it. Unlike the golden halls of the sanctum, brimming with the glory and glamour befitting the King, and the pristine white halls of the passage to the throne room, the throne room itself is dark, cold and dim.

You had always considered it to look something like an aircraft hangar, but without the aircrafts, without the exit wing and without any pilots. The room was a deep, domed room with a single, blue carpet rolled out from the door to the “throne” at the rooms center. Along the walls, low floor lights shone upwards against the wall, illuminating the room to a dim, eerie glow. Just enough to make out the figures present. Obviously the King at the rooms center. Immediately to his left the former Magpie, once known as Locria, now masquerading with the name Fassad. You feel your stomach twist in knots when looking at him. You and he did not see eye to eye. And you loathed how, even after twenty years. He had not aged. It had something to do with the Magpie’s and you wanted nothing to do with him. It was almost sickening. You knew for certain that Lucas had brutally harmed him in the past, he had fallen off buildings -- and for a while, he was like you. More machine than man. And it drove you positively wild to know that enough donors had come along to restore his body to that of someone living. For such an organization so dedicated to creating human hybrids, it was pretty twisted that they would encourage someone like Fassad to get to remain as organic as possible. 

Then the others stood in a line off to the right, at attention along the carpet. Neil had already taken his position at the far end of the line and a spot was reserved for you near the front, as close to the king as possible. Beside you stands the second Commander, known as Project N. Unlike you, he appears to have his emotions kept intact, always a bit more capable of responding easily when addressed. You always had to assess the situations before making a decision. As you stand there, you feel the slight nudge of the other Commander, causing you to look down, noting a button was unfastened. You do not speak a word of thanks or gratitude, but it is known between the both of you.

Like you, he is young. Dark hair with partial bangs in his face, but neatly maintained. Eyes, much like yours, two different colors. One violet, one gold. Likely having the same functionality, and again, like yourself, an arm cybernet and capable of destruction should the need arise for it. He claims he is not from this world. You have no reason to doubt him.

“Why are you late?” he speaks softly so not to alert the others. “It’s unlike you.”

“Routine maintenance accidentally disabled my alarm system.” you answer in response, keeping your voice down as well. “It will not happen again, Commander.”

“I should hope not.” N replies with a studious glance. You suspect he knows there is something you are hiding. “I would hate to have to turn on a fellow officer.”

“Your threat is unnecessary, I am having the system reinstated after this meeting.” A pause. “You look good in white.”

Before you can get a reaction out there’s a snort as to Commander N’s right, a tall, almost fearsome soldier -- one of the Pigmask Troopers who you’ve met on a few occasions -- lets out an irritated grunt followed by, “Are we starting yet?!”

  
In which a young girl to the Troopers side, dressed in a blazer with a ruffled, orange blouse beneath it pulls her dark brown hair up into a small bun before sitting down at a small stool her fingers at a stenographers keyboard. “I can start recording whenever you’re ready, your Highness.” she speaks in such a way that her tone almost sounds bored.

_ “We can start counting whenever you’re ready, Claus! _ ” You hear in the back of your mind as you watch the girls fingers position themselves.

“ _ What? I thought you already started counting, not fair! Lucas already went to hide! _ ”

“ _ Well that’s his fault isn’t it? _ ”

“ _ Come on Richie, let me get him first so we can start over, okay? _ ”

You draw in a sharp breath, and you feel Commander N’s hand strike you against the stomach to cause you to return to attention. No sooner does the King begin to speak.   
  
The King’s throne is not a throne. It’s a capsule with him laying inside. He is a child, but he is positively ancient. Quite possibly thousands of years old with only this chamber keeping him sustained. But it was hard to know the actual science behind it. You knew only a few things about the King. He was not of this world. He had been allied with some cosmic horror beyond your understanding. And now, what you had learned from Leder. That he was locked out of other worlds and came to yours, which he had playing with all this time. It made sense that he did not have you pull the final needle. If you were to end this world, he would have nowhere else to go.

When the King speaks, it is not his voice, but rather, it’s a telepathic link between him and countless speakers near the rooms ceiling, projecting his words out to the small group of selected elites. The room rumbles as his voice rings out in a speech that, as far as you are concerned, is far too childish for a King.

“Listen up!” the speakers boom. “I don’t wanna be here so early either! I have games I could be playing but I guess I got a tip about some really nasty business!” Nasty business is either code for genuine concerns, or the King was about to start discussing bowel movements. Neither of which you were quite in the mood for. There is silence among you before he resumes. “Seems like, a couple of grunts got wind of  _ someone _ turning on me!” There’s silence and then he begins to laugh with maniacal glee.

In turn, those of you present (yourself included) begin to force a laugh in unison with him. However, you cannot help but feel a twang of guilt. Was this about you?

“Yeah! Really funny, right?!” the King continues. “Some low level grunts thought they would start a rumor and get everyone really shaken up and scared that something bad would happen!” There’s a snort sound, perhaps coming from the King as part of the telepathic broadcast. “I mean, that’s just  _ crazy _ !”

There’s a response of ‘Yes sir, crazy.’ or ‘Oh absolutely.’ before the room quiets down again.

“And to make it even  _ funnier _ I heard that the person who wants to turn on me,” and his laughed picks up again, this time even more loudly. This time, no one joins me. “ _ Is one of my elites! AHAHAHAHAHA!!! _ ” There’s silence but then those present begin to join in, and before you realize it the room has erupted with fake, strained laughter from a small group of people who are coming to realize that this is not going to work out well in anyone’s favor.

This is absolutely about you.

Among the laughter however, a scream breaks out as the girl you suspect to be Richie, suddenly begins typing. From the walls of the room, cable-like vines had extended toward her wrapping around her throat, arms and legs, pulling her back from her keyboard. The room falls silent and while you begin to step from your position to assist the girl, you notice N’s arm shoot up to hold you back. He utters softly:

“We heard you’ve been developing a conscience. I cannot let you intervene.”

_ Does he know? _

Surely he can’t. . .

From your side, you hear steam emit as the King’s throne-capsule rises and begins to clatter along the ground with six mechanical legs, giving it a most insect like appearance. It skitters quietly as he comes up behind Richie, some of the cables now entangled in her hair. She’s eyeing the rest of you, begging for help as her fingers clutch at the cables around her throat. But her expression is almost resigned. As if she knows precisely why none of you are helping.

This is a matter of royal affairs. Three of the agents present could record the audio from this session. She was not asked to attend as a stenographer. She was invited to be bait.

“I don’t know about you,” the King continues. “But I think, even if it is a joke, we should take that pretty seriously!” A resounding announcement of affirmation from you and the others. You swallow thickly and for a moment, you meet N’s gaze.

There is no possible way he knows. But. . .if he does.   
He’s not speaking up. He is not outing you.

“So while I have all of you here!” the King continues, his throne walking past Richie and Neil at the end who seems positively paralyzed in this moment. “I figure, hey! Why don’t we try and get one of my little piggies to squeal!” And his laughter resounds again. No one joins him.

Richie’s yanked from her stool and lifted from the ground, her legs kicking beneath her as she struggles to free herself. The King intends to kill her if information is not obtained.

Had this been you a year ago, you would not have blinked. Perhaps also because a year ago you were not planning on turning on the King. And also that you were not as compassion this time last year.

“So I’m going to give all of you thirty seconds! Thirty seconds to speak up! I know  _ one _ of you is thinking of turning on me! It’s only a matter of finding out which one of you is a stupid bleeding heart that would rather save a stupid girl than admit you were going to betray me!”

You have thirty seconds to decide if you’re going to come clean. Thirty seconds to determine if you’re going to allow an innocent girl to die because you just so happened to get a goddamn birthday card.

“ _ Claus, I know what you’re thinking, but don’t do it! _ ” you hear Kumatora in the back of your skull yelling at you. “ _ You are abandoning this world, you will be able to save the other versions of her! _ ”

“ _ That’s my friend. Or, she was my friend. _ ”

You think in response. You have twenty-five seconds.

“No one?! Nobody wants to save her and just come clean and tell me who’s a traitor?!”

“ _ Oh my god Claus, do not be such a pushover, do not open your mouth _ !”

You find yourself scanning the room, seeking to try and find something to distract the King, to buy time. You catch eyes with N once more.

“You cannot be serious.” he says. “Trying to stop him is just as bad as betraying him. Use your head.”

You have fifteen seconds.

“It was me, your Majesty!” you suddenly hear the room go quiet, there’s a loud thud as Richie is released from the cables and she falls to the ground, landing hard on her side. She wheezes, trying to catch her breath as the head Trooper approaches her to try and get her seated upright. From the side of the overturned keyboard, Neil has stepped forward, saluting the King in a rather fearful, terrified stance. His eyes are closed as the clattering of the Kings robotic legs brings him closer. “I did not suspect you had overheard me, but I had expressed a curiosity about how long it would be until your body expired! I did not intend for it to be heard as a threat, but rather a scientific curiosity!”

Oh, Dr. Neil Alleweitz, you spectacularly stupid genius.

“ _ Oh that works out, you get to live and your friend dies instead. Cool. _ ”

The room remains silent before you heard the King’s laughter again as his throne skitters away from Neil, returning back to its original position. “PAAHAHAHAHA!!” he laughs. “Real noble of you, Neil-Weelie, but you  _ know _ that’s not what this is about! People talk about when I’m gonna die all the time! But props for making sure I don’t kill someone today! Fffft! I’ll find out which one of you’s conspiring soon enough! Diiiiiiiismissed!”

The doors of the throne room open with another burst of steam, allowing the group of you to to leave should you wish. You begin to make your way to the girl named Richie, who Neil is now shakily helping her to her feet once again, accompanied by the Trooper to keep her steady. But before you can get close enough, Commander N steps in your way.

“Come with me.” he says, leading the way. You glance toward the King and Fassad, sneering faintly -- only to realize during that entire exchange, he hadn’t said a single word. On your way out, you briefly make eye contact with Neil, who offers you nothing but a nod.

Your gut twists into a knot as you follow N from the room.

Neil knows. How? You can’t even fathom a guess. But perhaps he had picked up on enough abnormalities in your behavior. But you suppose, even a mad scientist would want to protect their own creation.

You stand with Commander N in the elevator, neither of you having spoken a word to one another. But you suspect he might be acting under orders. You study him a moment; no he was not being puppeted. This was all acting under free will.

“Commander N --”

“Not until we leave the elevator.” he says, raising a hand at you to order your silence. And so you stand in silence for a moment until the elevator comes to a stop. Not at the residence floors, but instead to one of the abandoned research floors. A floor that you recognized with a painful familiarity. Commander N steps out first and long-since-abandoned ceiling lights flicker on at the first indication of movement.

“Follow me.” he says, guiding you through the lab for a moment. All the operating tables in this wing are small, designed for children, and all equipment is clearly older and abandoned. This, if you recall correctly, was the wing where they made you. Commander N stops, resting against a desk, his hands clutching the surface as he studies you.

“What’s this about?” you ask, fully anticipating the firing squad to come out of hiding. Not that there was a firing squad of course.

“I know it’s you.” he says without hesitation. “I will not question what exactly you are doing, or why you are doing. As being part of Project Masked, I understand the temptation of escaping and rejoining your old life, but we absolutely cannot act on those desires. Doing so can put not just this world, but all worlds in jeopardy.”

You stop in your tracks and you note: there is absolutely no joking in what he is saying. Commander N is speaking entirely of his own free will, issuing you a warning.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” you lie quickly.

“Yes you do, I saw the way you were scanning the room. I could measure the change in your heartbeat. That was not just the reaction of someone who was experiencing a high tension atmosphere. That was the reaction of someone who knew they had done wrong.” he continues, but his expression grows to be forlorn. “Listen, R. I want you to stop. I know it’s tempting but you can’t do it. And if you continue with this, I will be required to stop you. If not of my own volition by force, and --” He stops, swallowing thickly himself. “I don’t want to experience that again.”

“N, I understand your concerns regarding this situation but I can assure you, I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

 

“I do.” he says. “Because I would go home too if I had the chance.”

* * *

“ _ You know Claus, you’re going to have to tell me who here is your ally and who isn’t because I seriously cannot tell _ .”

“Neither can I.” you say as you finally enter your office after the mornings ordeal. “They’re clearly on to me, and I cannot say what may have given it away. It’s not my personality developing, that’s been building for months now.”

“ _ It better not have been Fuel _ .”

“The King said it was a grunt, Fuel is a higher rank than that. And despite what it may seem, I do not believe him to be the type to turn on someone.” You begin to unfasten your coat, hanging it on the coat rack near your doorway before approaching your desk. As far as you can tell the rooms power is still off. As it should be. You were speaking aloud to yourself and the mere notion of you talking to someone else without authorized permission was enough to warrant some suspicions. Thankfully, your room was without power for the time being however, you still had work to do. And so you climbed atop your chair to push aside the panel of the ceiling, and switched the breaker back on.

You opted to switch back to thinking your correspondence with Kumatora.

“ _ How is it that I can speak with you now? _ ” you asked as you approached your desk where your computer was requesting to be boot up in Safe Mode.  _ Stop being so melodramatic, _ you thought as you denied it permission to do so.

“ _ Nice. Talking to your computer. _ ” Kumatora said as you leaned against the back of your chair, awaiting for it to start. “ _ We probably just got linked telepathically when I restored your memories. Or maybe I’m just reacting positively to you being a carrying of PK Love, I dunno, after my moms went away, everything I’ve learned about my powers is all trial and error and guessing. I have no idea how most of this works. You ever read any of those superhero comics where the hero has to learn their powers on their own? Think of me like that. A cool, aging superhero with powers she hasn’t even figured out yet, passing on my knowledge to you -- a scrub. _ ”

“ _ You are, so very insightful. _ ” you react as your computer finishes its tantrum and allows you to begin opening its programs. “ _ I am just, so very grateful to have such a wise, thoughtful mentor _ .”

“ _ I can’t tell if that’s just how you think or if you’re being sarcastic. You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you _ ?” You hear her laugh. “ _ You sound like your brother _ .”

Your email opens first and amidst the mess of confidential files that honestly bored you to tears (if it were possible), there are a few personal correspondences. One from Fuel, asking how to restore power in his office (sent from his phone), another from Neil regarding a diagnostic report, and a follow-up email about your appointment with Dr. Andonuts the following week. And then at the very top of the emails, a message from someone whom you cannot recall ever speaking with.   
  
Dr. Andonauts, H.

_ I hope this letter finds you well, Project Reanimate. I have heard from a reliable source that you had expressed interest in meeting with me, in regards to a gift I received from my son-in-law. I have cleared any meetings this afternoon should you wish to meet with me. I can be found on the 86th floor, Astronomy Department, Interdimensional Studies. I’ll be waiting. _

_ All the best, _

_ Dr. H. Andonauts _

You reread the email a few times and examine the time at the bottom corner of your screen. Ten-forty-eight in the morning. She mentioned the afternoon. You ought to wait until at least 12:01 before heading to her office. Afternoon would have to wait until --

“ _ Knowing how your daily routine keeps panning out, just leave now. You’re probably going to get sidetracked. Someone’s probably going to pull you aside like yesterday and you’re going to get dragged around --” _

_ “Enough _ .” You say, raising a hand as if to silence her. “ _ You’ve made a very valid point, but please give me an opportunity to rest _ .”

“ _Buddy, you don’t get to rest!_ _Not til we get you to the twins!_ ”

You lean forward, resting your head on the desk, closing your eyes as you listen to the faint hum of the computer’s tower beneath the sturdy oak. “ _ I’m sorry, but there is quite a lot that I’ve been having to process, you’ll have to forgive me for being overwhelmed while I try to make sense of everything I’m currently experiencing. I may have been having my humanity restored over the course of several months, but there has been more exposure to my own emotions since our meeting yesterday than there has been since the restoration program began. I need a moment _ .”

“ _How long of a moment do you NEED?!_ _I’m trying to fix the state of the universe and you need a moment?! Come on buddy, you’re a goddamn robot --”_

_ “ _ I am a  _ cyborg _ !” you find yourself yelling aloud. “I am  _ still human _ !” You catch yourself speaking aloud, and notice you had stood up, hands banging angrily upon the desk before you settle back down, and return to your thoughts. “ _ I need to rest! I am still a living, breathing human being, even if much of me is mechanical, I am still alive! I cannot help you fix anything if you don’t give me a chance to recover! I held a man’s hand as he died of abuse and neglect from the very system keeping me alive, I’ve had to deal with the very pain I had taken away from me of the death of both my brother and mother -- do you think I can just shut off my humanity in favor of assisting you?! I have felt anguish for the first time in over twenty years! How do you expect me to just keep moving when I am only now experiencing my own heartache for the first time?! _ ”

You do not hear a response from Kumatora for a few moments. It’s as if she had hung up the phone and did not want to speak to you any longer. But you hear a slight humming, perhaps to fill the now awkward and tense silence between you both as she searched for the correct words to say.

“ _ I’m glad you’re still human _ .” she says. “ _ It makes me a little more hopeful that this is going to work...Go on, take a rest. There will be time for a longer rest when we make this work. I’m sure once you get there you’ll have all the time in the world to rest.” _

_ “You make it sound like I’m going to die.” _

_ “You might. Death is just a long rest after all. And from the sounds of it, you’re exhausted.” _

You recall sitting at your mother’s headstone yesterday. How you heard those words rustling in the petals of the sunflowers as the autumn breeze stirred them.

Kumatora, and the whisper of your mother’s words were both correct: you were.   
  
  


You sit upright with a start, a blaring alarm in your mind going off, informing you that it was past noon and you were allowed to make your way to meet with Dr. Andonauts. Not  _ your _ Andonauts, but another one. His wife, so you heard. You had not realized you’d fallen asleep at your desk, but you had apparently made a point to set yourself an alarm to make sure that you were ready to make your way to the eighty-sixth floor that afternoon.

“ _ You were out, wow. _ ” you hear Kumatora interrupt as you put on your uniform’s coat again, striding into the hallway. A few grunts offer you a salute as you exit, inciting an “At ease,” response as you stride down the path to the elevators.” _ I take it back, you really did need that rest _ .”

You do not respond to her. Perhaps you were still angry at her insistence that you were a robot. You were not. You wanted to make this abundantly clear to anyone who you crossed paths with: you were not a robot. A robot is a machine designed to perform a task. An android, while similar appears humanoid and has a small chance for sentience. A cyborg, is a human being with robotic enhancements. You were a cyborg.

As you exit the elevator to the 86th floor, you are greeted with what you consider to be one of the most calming floors of the tower. It’s dimly lit, but not in such a threatening way that the throne room was. It’s in such a way where had you been a bit more tired than you were (and frankly, you were grateful for your sudden catnap) you would have immediately felt drowsy upon entering the floor. The walls, floor and ceilings were all dark and twinkling with small lights that you suspected were to represent starts or distant celestial bodies. The lights above were turned down low as to not to deter from the effect. If you were to focus your eyes to the walls and ceiling, you would notice the faint shimmer of other colors; pinks, purples, blues and golds, to represent gaseous forms throughout space. If anything, it was truly a wondrous sight to behold. 

Before you were two signs, illuminated with soft, yellow light pointing off to the right and left. To the right,  _ Viewing Tower _ , where you could only assume there was a location to view the night sky and study its patterns and behaviors. But to the left there was an arrow saying  _ Interdimensional Studies _ , where Dr. Andonauts had asked you to meet her. 

You step along the path, noting how with each step, your feet seemed to leave a signature of shimmery light, as if you were disturbing the cosmic gasses. Each one...gave you a strange reverb of melancholy. . .How long had it been since you had seen the night sky? How long had it been since you’d seen stars.

_ “Look boys, that’s a constellation, see how the four stars form a diamond shape? We call that the Angel’s Prayer. It was said she was stuck on earth and she and her friends were facing a foe so powerful, so evil that she prayed so hard that she reached different worlds and people from all across this universe and the next loaned her their love and power than she and her friends could defeat the evil _ .”

“ _ What kind of angel was she, mom?” _

_ “Oh a beautiful, lovely angel. And she was a young child, just like both of you!” _

_ “Do you think we could have been her friends too?” _

_ “I don’t see why not, she had many friends and had so much love in her heart. I’m sure you both would have been great friends with her!” _   
  


_ “Her name was Paula. _ ” you hear Kumatora say as it becomes clear she witnessed your memory with you. “ _ The angel. I don’t...know anything about her. But I know that story you heard your mom say? That’s true. Now don’t quote me on that, okay? But, like...I think she came from the world your stupid-ass King came from but. Ah, I dunno. You can ignore me. I know you are right now; I really pissed you off _ .”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” you respond quietly as you come to a door near the hall’s end. It doesn’t have a label, but it appears to be the only option. You rap a knuckle gentle against it, and from within, you hear a sweet, albeit quiet voice answer.

“It’s open.”

The room within is much less astounding than the halls. The light is still dim, albeit nowhere as bright enough to hurt your eyes from the adjustment. The shimmery floor seemed to spill in past the doorway, giving almost the effect of water spilling between the door and the floor. It’s a soothing room with the scent of...lavender?...lingering in the air. It does not appear to be an office designed for interdimensional studies at first, unless you were to thoroughly examine the whiteboard and freestanding chalkboard off to the left side of the room. A desk sat positioned in the back right corner, upon it a small desk lamp turned on with a computer located on the outer side of the desk, monitor apparently turned off to preserve the atmosphere. And on the desk’s front, next to a nameplate reading “Dr. Hailey Andonauts” was a bottle, within it, a regal white ship with sails unfurled.

Sitting at the desk is a woman, in her early seventies, you would guess, writing in a small notebook. Her hair is recently greyed, pulled into a ponytail behind her hair, round silver glasses positioned on her face as she works. You suspect, even for her age, she is quite lovely. You can only imagine how she looked when she was young. You do not say anything at first and instead take in the atmosphere of the room as she works. The room reminds you of the calming, ambient comfort that comes with meditation, not that you’ve ever done it yourself. However, you know the stereotype. You honestly expect to hear ocean waves someone in the room, but it seems she is not the sort for that type of relaxation.

“Dr. Andonauts,” you begin as she continues with her work.

“My husband had told me so much about you,” she says, her pen still moving as she continues her work. “He would return home every day, talking about how he and his student had managed to reanimate a body capable of human function with robotic enhancements. He was always so enthusiastic. . .” 

She sets down the pen and stands up, stepping out from behind her desk. As she approaches you, you cannot help but feel the need to thank her. For what, you cannot be sure. She lifts an arm and extends her hand to you which you shake graciously.

“I’m Dr. Hailey Andonauts, and it’s an honor to meet you Project Reanimate,” and she pauses. “Or should I say, Claus.”

“You know my name.”

“Every scientist in this tower knows your name.” she says, a warm smile on her face as she turns from you to approach the whiteboard of her office. “We’re just instructed never to call you by it, of course,” she turns to face you from the board with a knowing smile. “However, I had a feeling that one day I would meet you personally...and that I would be at liberty to speak your name.” There’s a sudden fizzling of static and you notice how her presentation goes from calm and composed to stern, perhaps picking up on the same sort of frequency you had noticed.

You gaze at the ceiling and notice that a small red light was peeking through one of the tiles and you were able to ascertain one thing in particular. You were now being monitored. Dr. Andonauts lifts one of the markers at the whiteboard and begins to write something down.

“Doctor, if you don’t mind my asking,” you say as you watch as she writes upon the door. “What do you do here?”

“I assist with the passage of travelers and residents arriving from different worlds and dimensions.” she says, sounding almost a little disdained by the idea. “I aided in the process of populating this city while my husband was involved in chimera research.” Her voice, already soft in demeanor grows almost forlorn. “I’ve been under strict orders to bring people to this world but I am not allowing people to depart.”

She offers a faint smile.

She’s informing you that this city is a prison, isn’t she?

“So, you aid in interdimensional transport for person’s --”

“Against their will.” She adds, with the slight indication of slyness in her voice. “And I heard from Dr. Alleweitz that you had expressed interest in my white ship.” You swallow a bit as her eyes gaze to the ship in the bottle on her desk before directing your attention back to the board where she had written something down.

_ That ship is a one-way phase distorter gun that reacts positively to PSI in creating interdimensional rifts that can allow a human body to pass through without being torn apart. _

“Yes, I,” you begin trying to figure out what the the best course of action is for a response. “Was curious about its construction.” She gives you a knowing smile and a nod before returning to the desk to tear the page out of the notebook in which she had been writing, offering the sheet to you. You scan it for a moment and realize...she had been writing down instructions for the white ship on her desk.

“Project R,” she says, seeming to know that it is no longer safe to use your name. “This ship means a lot to me, it’s quite sentimental, you see.” Her hands touch the glass of the bottle, rubbing her fingers together as she notes the dust that had collected on its surface. You meet her eyes for a moment as you review the paper, noting a message at the page’s bottom.

“ _ If you plan on making one of your own, you cannot let it fall into the wrong hands _ .” She offers a smile. “Some people just won’t appreciate the craftsmanship.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. This chapter is literally half the length of the story so far.

“The Phase Distorter gun, known as the White Ship Model, is designed to work in tandem with PSI. It was created with the phenomena of PK Love in mind, which has been determined to be strong enough to allow a human to pass through its interdimensional rifts without causing damage to the subject. However, in order to ensure safe passage, a recently discovered form of PSI, being labeled for the time as 4-D, can be used to keep the Phase Distorter stable, and ensure that the world the subject travels to, is the correct one.”

You read this aloud when you return to your barracks later that evening, so that Kumatora may hear what you have to say. 

“ _ I mean, yeah, I sort of understand that.”   _ Kumatora responds. “ _ It’s like, on its own the gun thing is strong enough to rip a hole that can send someone to another world, but it needs a strong enough PSI user for it to not, you know, kill someone _ .”

“What do you suppose 4-D is?” you ask, setting the paper on your coffee table as you rise from your  _ exquisitely _ plush couch. You are not much one to find yourself antsy and curious about things to this extent. But well, exposure to so many sources outside your familiar sphere has caused you to feel far more. . .apprehensive, you suppose is the correct word.

“ _ I have an answer but it’s inappropriate and as far as I can tell, you still have the maturity level of a 13 year old boy, and I think if I said this, you’d be in stitches.” _

“I am actually mildly offended by that statement.” you announce as you enter what you would consider to be your kitchen. It’s a small nook with a modestly sized refrigerator -- recently installed after you had your stomach and intestinal tracts placed inside your torso again. “I am far more mature than you give me credit for.”

“ _ I can almost promise you the second I say the word ‘weenie’ you’re going to start giggling.” _ She goes silent for a moment as you open the fridge door, and you find a sort snorting coming from past your lips. Alright, so perhaps you did find some humor in the word. “ _ See, what did I tell ya? _ ”

“I can assure you that I am only finding amusement in that because of how you said it.”

“ _ Boobie _ .”

You clutch the door of the fridge and force out a rather loud laugh, only to cover your mouth quickly. It had been quite a long time since you found yourself laughing. And of course it would have to be something that your childhood self would have lost his mind over.

“ _ Oh my god, Claus, I didn’t think that you actually had the humor level of a kid, but you really do. _ ” Kumatora spoke again and you could hear the amusement in her voice as well.

You felt your gut churn as your laugh continued -- it was a weak, almost confused sounding laugh. As if questioning each sound your system made as your diaphragm shook with delight. “I-I promise,  _ promise _ I am only laughing at the absurdity of this situation. I am speaking telepathically with an aging PSI witch in an abandoned castle, who is trying to make me laugh by appealing to the child repressed in me.  _ It’s ridiculous _ . How old are you? I know you’re older than me.”

_ “I’m 41.” _ she says. _ “And I’m only telling you because you need to learn a lesson -- never ask a woman her age. It might get you punched in the face. If you’re ever gonna ask a woman out, she will tell you her age when she’s ready.” _

And you find yourself going silent at that comment as you retrieve a chilling pitcher of water from the fridge finally. You knew you needed to put something in your stomach but you could not quite tell if it was hunger or thirst. Grasping a glass you pour some of the water into it and hold it to your lips, thoughtfully.

“ _ Hellooo? Radio static on my end. Did you kick it? _ ”

“I had never considered that.” you reply after a moment. “I have only ever believed in a purpose of working for the Empire. I hadn’t ever thought of finding someone. . .” You sip the water and hear Kumatora respond.

“ _ Don’t worry about it too much, usually only gets you hurt… _ ” she says quietly. “ _ Love ain’t worth it. Only ever bites you in the ass. People leave and you always end up alone.” _

“Did you have someone?”

It was her turn to go quiet for a moment. There’s a slight crunching sound as you realize she’s been nibbling on a snack on her end. “ _ Yeah, kinda _ .” she says. “ _ You know, I’ve always preferred women -- but, eh, I dunno. There was one guy. He’s gone now though. Went to be somewhere else. Somewhere he wouldn’t hurt anymore. And that’s okay. He was scared...Couldn’t handle what happened to Lucas. Couldn’t handle seeing how broken I got _ .” She trails off a bit. “ _ Heard he’s pretty successful now...And as long as he’s happy? That’s fine with me _ .”

“You seem to be quite content opening up to me now.” you comment. “Quite the difference between now and yesterday, care to explain yourself?”

“ _ I haven’t had anyone to talk to in a long time, _ ” she says. “ _ You can only talk to a dog so much before you realize how lonely you are. A dog can listen but a dog can’t relate to you. And well, you’ve been lonely for a long time too, right? _ ”

“Have you considered coming with me when I leave this world?” you ask her, but she only laughs.

_ “Someone has to stay behind to make sure they don’t try to hunt you down.” _ There’s humor of her own in her voice as she speaks. “ _ I thought about being the one to go to the other world, but the more I considered it, the more I realized it might break the balance of that world. You can have two redheads in the same family, but how often do you see a naturally pink haired girl in the exact same town with the exact same personality. Someone has to make the sacrifice to be alone while everything gets fixed. And who knows, maybe I’ll hit up that cute stenographer that almost got her ass killed, what’d you say her name was?” _

_ “ _ Richie?”

“ _ Yeah, she was cute. Maybe she has a thing for cranky magpie witches. _ ”

You offer a dry laugh. Humor was going to be something you would have to relearn, but the more you talked to Kumatora, the more natural it was feeling. You found yourself learning how to smile again, allowing yourself another sip of water.

“ _ So who’s that Neil guy to you anyways? _ ”

So much for the water; you choked mid-swallow and spit a fair bit of it out, splashing it on to the floor at your feet. It was a very unexpected question, and --

“My engineer.” you answer quickly, feeling heat rising to your face. You considered it an inappropriate question, but you  _ did _ ask Kumatora her age. It was only fair she got to ask a prying question as well. “He and I are close in age and he took over work for Dr. Andonauts when he was in his late teens, having surpassed him in terms of research and --”

“ _ And he seems quite fond of you _ .” Kumatora teased. “ _ God he’s like a nerdy kid at a science fair whenever he talks to you. Like he’s so excited to show off his baking soda and vinegar volcano, knowing damn well he’s scored first place _ .”

“Is that so? I hadn’t noticed.” you take that drink of water finally, but your throat feels dry.

“ _ Dr. Alleweitz -- Neil! -- Neil.” _ she mocks. “ _ God, he’s a fanboy! Just, pay attention to him next time you see him. He’s a fanboy, honestly it’s like, super cute _ .”

“I repeat, I had not noticed.” You take another sip of water.

“ _ You know, I take it back. Maybe you shouldn’t be so concerned about asking a woman out, maybe you should be more concerned about your engineer asking you out instead. _ ”   
  


You had to give that some thought. . .You had always known Neil had been an interesting sort. He had shown up when you were twenty. He worked only as a research assistant for a short period before suddenly, he was the only researcher you saw on any given day before he announced he had taken control of your project. He was the one who had affectionately given you the name of Project Reanimate, or Project R as many called you. He admitted to working on another project similar to your own, Project N, or Project Null, who would eventually be revealed to be Commander N. But he had made it abundantly clear that you were his pet project. He wanted to create the perfect cyborg. One who operated flawlessly, responded to orders and request and oversaw his duties with such precision, he would make the human identity obsolete. He was obsessed with making sure that  _ you _ were ideal. He had overseen every little aspect of your enhancements. Each little detail. . . until you had started to admit that you did not like this detachment from your humanity.

You said it was because you desired to appeal to lower ranked soldiers, for means of emotional manipulation when it came to defying orders.

But as you dwelt upon the idea, you simply did not like the void you felt growing within you. You did not like being unable to relate to those around you. You did not like being seen as less human than Commander N. He could at least feign emotion. He could function in a social environment. He could pretend to be human.   
  
Perhaps, this was jealousy. 

(Oh it was absolutely jealousy.)

But by the time you had started to wish to have your enhancements undone, Neil had vanished. Perhaps it was because he had shown some sort of compassion to these desires. But it was hard to ascertain just why he had vanished. A temporary stand-in had stepped in to oversee your weekly and monthly appointments, but it almost had seemed like you had been abandoned by the system. And then? Neil was back. As if nothing had changed. He was not a man obsessed as he had been before you left. He was quiet, he was concerned for you. For what you desired and your well being. And he buried himself in studying ways to reverse the process he had invested so much time and energy into. In the period of time Neil had been gone, he had become a different person. He returned with his own cybernetic limbs, leading you to suspect that maybe he had experienced some sort of misfortune that had caused him to dislike the adaptation of human beings into partial machines. But you couldn’t be sure.

Neil was a changed man when he returned. And he wouldn’t allow anyone to assist in your de-chimerization process. You were still his pet project. But now? There was a different type of motive behind it. It was a compassionate one. But you did not pry. Neil was a private man. And you knew not to meddle in ones private affairs.

* * *

 

With dawn came the forty-eight hour marker. You would need to act within the next two days in order to make this jump to the world where your younger self and Lucas were in need of someone to care for and protect them. You wake up on time, you can claim that your alarms were simply a one time fluke. You are ready on time. You leave when you are scheduled to leave. Kumatora does not appear to be awake when you leave. You leave and take the elevator to your floor. You enter your office. You sit down.

And you wait.

It is eight in the morning. You open your email to find no new messages of note. All meeting minutes from various branches. Nothing of interest. You review the news. Nothing of interest. You lean back in your chair and study the needle in its case. Your heart aches.   
  
That was the needle you pulled after killing Lucas.

“I’m so sorry,” you utter aloud, feeling the gushing thrum of your heart as you turn your chair around and touch the glass. Needles are to disappear once they are pulled but this one remained solid. Perhaps due to the sheer imbalance the Islands felt when one of the users of PK Love ceased to breathe. But it was held in the case with strong energy -- whether psychic or magic you could not tell -- and you wondered what would happen if you removed it. Maybe, it would bring Lucas - No, that was stupid. Lucas would not magically return from the dead because you released this needle and allowed it to vanish.

The past forty-eight hours had done more for you in this process of becoming human again than years of rehabilitation. Of course, you could certainly say you’d been learning over the course of the past few years, but if someone had told you having your memories slowly unlocked would be the source of expediting the process, you would have encouraged the procedure ages ago. But. . .Dr. Andonauts was quite adamant about making sure you could not access your past memories. Naturally exceptionally powerful PSI would be what brought you to your senses.

You rest your head upon your desk. You knew now how boredom felt. You were usually quite content to sit at your desk awaiting orders either via email, or sent directly to your communications drive, but without such, and with your trickling down humanity, you were too aware of how it felt to be bored out of your mind.

A faint beeping catches your attention. It’s not your computer but it’s the communication drive installed in your ear. You press the tragus of your ear and you hear the line connect.

“ _ Oh Project R, good to see you’ve arrived on time _ .” you hear Neil’s voice in your head and you  _ instantly _ feel yourself growing embarrassed. Since Kumatora addressed him being your  _ fanboy _ you couldn’t help but feel somewhat sheepish.

“It was a fluke, Dr. All--  _ Neil _ .” You catch yourself so he doesn’t correct you again. “You and I are both firmly aware that there was a temporary disabling of the alarm system in my internal clock. Commander N was able to help me reinstate it since you seemed to have more pressing matters after yesterday’s briefing.”

“ _ Actually, I wanted to talk to you about the briefing, you see -- _ ”

“Neil.”

You cut him off, getting this sudden, sinking feeling in your stomach that a call was not the best option for this sort of conversation. He doesn’t speak further after you say his name, leaving you to idle in the silence.

“I think this conversation is best had in person at your lab. I would like to request you be sure that  _ your schedule is free _ .” You add to the end of the sentence, hoping he picks up on the desire that you need the utmost privacy if you and he were going to speak. Neil Alleweitz was a private man, and frankly -- from this point on, so were you.

It had been bothering you. Neil had commented on conspiring against the Empire while in the elevator with you. He had been a changed man when he returned after his disappearance. And he had offered to take the fall as the traitor during the meeting the day prior. It appeared that there was a conspiracy against the Empire. And you were the last one to find out.

You realize you hung up on Neil. You hope he wasn’t offended. 

 

* * *

 

Neil has a laboratory of his own separate from the rest of the chimera research labs. It’s a small one where he can work on much of his projects in private. It’s in a single room a floor above the confidential labs of the facility. You had only ever been here for post-diagnostics when Neil found something questionable in one of his reports. You were here more often when it was Dr. Andonauts’ office, but Neil was much more protective of his personal space. There was rumor he was experimenting on himself in the confines of his own office. But it was all speculation.

You knock lightly on the door of Neil’s office and the door opens quickly, he peers his head out the door and glances down the hall then up and down to glance at the ceiling and the floor. He looks haggard, as if he hadn’t slept but he stares you down, crosshair in his eye twirling to study you a moment.

“Power down the eye and the recording systems and you can come in. We need to talk.” You do as requested and feel the vision dim in your left eye and your hearing diminish as you honor his request and step into the room. You watch as Neil does something similar, the crosshair fading in his eye to reveal his natural green eye color before he pulls a small remote from his pocket, pressing a button.

Neil’s office appears almost unkempt. His desk is angled in the corner with several portraits on the wall, depicting yourself (albeit younger and in your helmet), the King, Fassad and a few since retired officials. It screams propaganda, but you now understand why. His desk is strewn with papers and coffee stains, with not a single cup in sight. They cascade off the side into a pile on the floor and over the small rug that lay in front of the desk. To the left side of the room, a large, cylindrical chamber filled with a vaguely blue fluid. It would often descend into the room below allowing for you to step inside for sensory testing and calibration, but you often did not need to be inside for more than ten minutes any longer. The room matches the aesthetic of the rest of the labs, but it’s much smaller with only machines for personal testing and inquiries. Most machines are familiar to you, utilized for your own upkeep and maintenance. Neil approaches a door to the back of his lab leading to a room which you’ve never seen, but suspect you don’t  _ wish _ to see and he presses a button on the door, causing a green light over it to flash red instead and the room then  _ completely shuts down.  _

“I’m so sorry, R, I had to initiate a panic room drill for my lab if we’re going to be able to talk.” There’s a faint twinge of paranoia in Neil’s voice as the lighting in the room shifts from a soft, blueish hue due to the sensory tank’s internal lighting, to a bright, almost painful red.  You squint your eyes but adapt after a moment.

“What do you know, Neil?” you ask quickly as Neil pulls out his desk chair for you to sit. You decline and opt to stand. “That stunt of yours yesterday could have gotten you killed.”

“I know, that was the point.” Neil says quickly as he approaches you. “Forgive me, I need to examine you a bit as we talk, I need to see if my gut was right.” You nod as he brings out a small tool that almost looks like a reflex hammer. “R, you’ve had me curious. Your sudden ability to react like a human being has my interests piqued. You’d been making steady progress over the past few years, but your sudden grasp on sarcasm was astounding. I admit, I, ah,” He pauses and looks at you with an apologetic smile. “Did a little digging about your whereabouts.”

You almost instantly feel yourself starting to activate your arm, but Neil steps back holding his hands up. “I promise, I didn’t leak anything. I had to know for my own endeavors. I am a scientist first, an ally of the empire second. Er. Third.” A pause. “No, forth...Fifth? Fact of the matter is, I did some digging but I didn’t do it with the intent of exposing you.” And with that, he begins to flick the hammer toward you -- and you flinch and his expression forms into that of a smile. “Knew it. I had programmed a response in you to not react to outside stimuli toward your face unless it would be life threatening. But after we began making advancements on your humanity, I had it initiated that the more human influence you were exposed to and adapted to, you would be able to subconsciously override that response.”

And Neil leans toward you, positively beaming. “It’s working! You’re on your way to being human again and I don’t know what happened on your birthday to spur such an advanced rate of adapting, but it’s  _ astounding! _ Claus, you’re a person again! Or you’re becoming one --”

“So you knew my name as well.” you interrupt him and he stops, pulling himself away from you, looking vaguely apologetic as he sets the hammer down on his desk. He realizes he probably should not have mentioned your name, but the damage was already done. Neil sighs and leans against his desk, studying you at a distance.

“I was not at liberty to say it. Many of your researchers and engineers knew your name, but we were not allowed to use it with you, lest it cause your memories to resurface, but, ah, something tells me -- you remember a lot, don’t you? Wherever it was you went on your birthday unlocked your memories and -” You hold up a hand to stop him from speaking for a moment.

“Neil, how much do you know about what happened?” you ask, your tone as soft as you are capable of making it. “I need you to understand that I am committing a terrible crime against the empire and if it gets out, which it no doubt will, I will be an enemy of the state. I need to know that nothing has been exposed.”

“I know you went to Osohe Castle outside the ghost town of Tazmily,” Neil says, uttering something about how he had lived there for a while as a child. You try to recall some of your youth, but you don’t seem to be able to place Neil’s face with any of the local boys. “Our records show that the Magpie Kumatora is living there, and she’s the last known PSI user that we don’t have documentation on outside of our own military’s exposure to her -- she’s a loose cannon, and had it not been for Trooper Chance, we would have apprehended her by now.”

“Trooper Chance?” you ask, the name is not familiar to you.

“The Pigmask Trooper at the meeting yesterday, he’s one of the King’s preferred soldiers. We mostly consult with him for terrain missions to the Tazmily region, since he seems familiar with the area. He’s only been here a decade or so, but he’s reached a pretty notable level of prestige among the footsoldiers.” Neil explains as he goes behind his desk. “We suspect he’s a part of Operation Hummingbird, but ahaha -- that’s where it’s kind of funny.”

“I am not versed in Operation Hummingbird.” you interject, and Neil’s eyes briefly widen before he settles.

“Doesn’t surprise me, since it’s apparent your total sentience is still newly restored. Operation Hummingbird is what we suspect is a resistance movement being conducted by a number of locals, mostly comprised of Tazmily natives, to tear a rift in the world to escape to a new world again. Apparently it’s folklore among the people of Tazmily, a story that was leaked from Magpie Kumatora to the holdouts within the city.” Neil begins to rifle through the papers on his desk, but he looks up with something of a knowing smile. “I should probably add that, you’ve inadvertently become a part of it.” He laughs a little bit, and it’s a peaceful, genuine one from what you are able to ascertain.”You probably ended up joining accidentally, honestly. You addressed the White Ship, and that’s our password, Claus!”

And he stops with his rifling, perhaps unable to find what he was searching for and he comes toward you again, his gaze soft as he looks you over. “Claus, there’s many people in this world that do not like how things have turned out. Magpie Kumatora is not the only person who is trying to gain your trust to make things right. I’m part of a group, so is Dr. Andonauts and her family, so are many people you know and work with. Many of us have known who you are, and known your origins since we first arrived here. It was no secret that Claus, the missing boy from Tazmily was part of the Masked Man project. We all knew. The only one who didn’t want to accept it was your father. . .But, we all see how crooked this world is. And I suppose, everything is just lining up for us right now.”

In a sense, this does not come as a surprise to you. With a world this corrupt, with a judicial system such as this, and a tyrannical rule such as the one implemented by King Porky, you cannot say you blame the people of the Empire. The world is unjust, but what does come as a surprise to you is how this all stayed so hidden from the eyes of those at your position or higher for so long. Or perhaps. . .they already knew.

“So that meeting yesterday,” you begin to say, thinking over the situation at hand. How Commander N had stopped you so abruptly. How the Trooper known as Chance had not intervened. How Neil had stepped in willing to take the blame for the potential treachery of the Empire. “That was not about me?”

“No, but many of us have caught wind of your activities due to my investigating. And we are willing to take the fall for you as operatives in Operation Hummingbird.” Neil continued. “I do not know to the extent that Magpie Kumatora is aiming to assist you, but the goal of Operation Hummingbird is simple. To bring about the ideal world. A world where all  _ this _ never happens. A world where we can prevent this outcome and bring about balance. We’ve already seen that a world free of burdens and corruption is a world that cannot survive should corruption be introduced, and a world of only corruption is not right for people on an individual scale. There is a world of balance, where we are trying to go. To make everything right.”

And Neil stands before you, he takes your hands and holds them within his own, studying the contrast between metal and flesh. It’s an oddly intimate moment between you and he, but his eyes focus upon yours. “Claus, I will do whatever it takes to make sure you succeed. Your plans and the ones I am involved in come from different sources. But our goal is the same. We wish to bring about entryway to this ideal world. You say the word, and I will aid you however I can.”

You listen to Neil with intent. You take to heart what he is saying. You recall your threat to him the day prior. You recall how you told him that you could not take any indication of conspiring against the Empire lightly. You recall how only a week earlier you would have not hesitated to turn your arm into its cannon and strike him down, dictating him as an enemy of the state. But you are becoming human. You are learning how to empathize with others.

“Neil,” you say softly, matching his cautious voice from moments prior. “I do not understand why you are trusting me so easily, when just yesterday I told you that I would not take conspiracy lightly. Why are you telling me now?”

“Because Dr. Andonauts said she could see the desperation in you.” Neil says in response. “She could see that this world is hurting you just as much as the rest of us. And she has put her trust in you.” He inhales, and continues after a moment. “Claus, I was a man obsessed when I first began to work here. I was dedicated to my work. I was willing to stop at nothing to take this position and aid this empire but, I couldn’t just sit back after my eyes were opened. I made the connections I needed, and now, I need to help the people of this world. And I need to help you.”

“Then tell me,” you say, finding yourself with an energized sort of smirk forming upon your face. “What do we do now?”

And Neil’s eyes light up as he squeezes both of your hands firmly within his own.

“We team up! Bring Magpie Kumatora here, she and Dr. Andonauts can synchronize the Phase Distorter Gun with her PSI and we can chart a trajectory for your arrival and we can get this resistance under way!”

And you feel that smirk form upon your face. And it feels like it belongs there.

Your name is Claus. For the last twenty years of your life, you were under the impression you were an unnamed, unfeeling emotionless cyborg, created for the sole purpose of defending an Empire that you had no personal attachment to. You had spent your entire life believing you were a tool. And now, you were coming to understand that you were a person. You had a person’s name with a person’s feelings and a person’s spirit. And you had learned, for the first time, something you wanted. You wanted to make things right.   
And so help you, you would make damn sure things were right.

 

* * *

 

Your name is Claus.   
You are known as Project Reanimate of the Masked Man Program of King Porky’s Empire. You were taken when you were ten years old and molded into the perfect cyborg. Until one day you expressed your first true human desire. You wanted to be more human, and less machine. And your engineer obliged and began to assist you in undoing the very process he had helped in.

Your name is Claus, and you have discovered what it means to be human in only a few short days. You have understood the grief of losing your entire family and you are immensely aware that the world you have grown up in and dedicated yourself to, is very  _ very _ wrong, and you have decided on your second human desire.

You would like to change this.

And somehow, you have become a primary operative in something known as Operation Hummingbird, a group of resistance fighters in the Empire, seeking to fix this world. And in doing so, it turned out that your desires and theirs lined up. You were their key for fixing things, and you hadn’t even realized.

“ _ Oh no, absolutely not! _ ” you hear Kumatora yelling in your head. “ _ You will not catch me dead in New Pork City! I would rather eat Bonnie’s dog shit than lay a single hair inside that hellscape! I spent the last twenty years avoiding getting captured and I am not about to walk in there of my own free will! That is begging to be abducted and experimented on and I absolutely will not have it! _ ”

“I understand,” you say gesturing as if you were trying to settle someone down as you find yourself pacing within your apartment. You have company tonight, Neil and the Andonauts family -- yes, all of them -- have come to your residence to help assist in discussing the next few steps to take. And though none of them can hear Kumatora speak to you, it becomes quite apparent to them that you are losing this argument. “But if you want to make sure things go as smoothly as possible, we need you to cooperate. The Phase Distorter Gun is only guaranteed to work with certain kinds of PSI, and from what Dr. Andonauts has told me, 4-D and PSI Meta are the same thing.”

“ _ No way. Not a chance. You are not getting me to come there. You all can come here, but I am not --” _

“If I may,” Hailey interjects softly, raising a hand. You know she cannot hear Kumatora, but she seems to have some sort of inkling to the matter at hand. “I think it might be in her best interest to know that the residence of this city are not allowed to leave unless they’re military personnel, and though I might be employed in the tower, I wouldn’t be able to come to her. None of us would.”

“Did you hear that?” you as as you eventually concede and sit on the recliner opposite the couch where Neil and both Drs. Andonauts were seated. Sitting perpendicular are two people, one of whom you’ve only met twice. A young man with neatly trimmed blonde hair, cropped to the sides of his face, and silver, oval glasses, dressed in a cardigan and button down. He looks a bit embarrassed to be there, perhaps second-hand, at your expense. This was Jeff Andonauts, the son of your former engineer, and to his left, an equally nicely dressed man with vaguely curly, auburn hair and an olive complexion. He seems far more enthusiastic to be there -- his partner, Tony. You suspect, he’s the son-in-law Hailey had mentioned when it came to the white ship.

“ _ UGH. You are killing me Claus. Killing me. What if they take me in? Who’ll take care of my fucking dog?! I’m a parent now, Claus. A dog parent. Do you know what it’s like to have a small life that depends on you and only you if the worst happens? I can’t leave Bonnie here without someone to take care of her! She’s Boney’s legacy! She’s a child! A small, furry, drooling child.” _

_ “ _ Kumatora, we won’t let anything happen to your dog.”

“Jeff, we could take in a dog if we have to, right?”

“I don’t know, I might be allergic.”

“Excuse me? Mr. Masked Man, uh, sir? Is this dog hypoallergenic?”

“Is Bonnie hypoallergenic --”

“ _ She’s a Labrador, probably not!” _

“No, probably not.” You hear a disappointed sigh from Tony and continue. “Listen, I will come escort you myself, if I have to. I can come tonight if I need to, and we can keep you with the Andonauts --” You say this realize you did not ask and turn to the family and mouth an apology before you see them discuss it momentarily before nodding in your direction. “I don’t think they would have a problem taking Bonnie - ?” You gaze at them again trying to get another reaction. Another moment of deliberation before another nod. “Just in case?”

“ _ Then you come here now. _ ” she says. “ _ You get your ass here and you get me there safely. We’re in and we’re out. As soon as you get through, someone there better get me back to Osohe Castle _ .”

You exhale and turn to gaze at the entire crowd of people that had gathered in your apartment. You look slowly at each of them and find yourself sighing before you say: “Do any of you know how to fly a specialized military aircraft?”

  
  


Technically speaking, Tony was the last one of the group you expected to be able to fly a military aircraft. You had expected Neil to volunteer his services, but considering that he was almost constantly under tight surveillance, he had opted to refrain from offering his services. But almost as soon as you had asked the question, Tony’s hand shot up almost like a child who was excited to answer a question in class.

Now, Tony did not work for the empire. You didn’t know what he did for a living. Just that he and Jeff Andonauts were a couple and he had apparently offered assistance in creating the Phase Distorter Gun. What he did for a living was a mystery to you. But that did not seem to deter your willingness to allow him to be the one to slip into the tower’s aircraft hangar with you under the cover of night. You had plenty of clearance to get in there yourself but slipping Tony in was another matter. Thankfully, Neil was all too willing to remove his uniform and offer it to Tony -- it was all lining up far too conveniently. Of course, due to Neil’s stature being larger than Tony, it was somewhat ill fitting and hung rather baggily around Tony’s far more slender frame.

“This should not be working so well,” you commented as you began to scan the lifeless hangar, seeking out what you had heard to be the easiest to fly aircraft. But before you could lay your eyes on the appropriate one, Tony had approached what you knew to be what could be classified as the hardest aircraft in the wing to pilot. Your expression falls and before you can deter him, he’s already managed to open the craft’s doors and hopped inside.

“Oh, this one’s nice.” Tony says almost enthusiastically, although certainly making a point to keep his voice down. You begin to interrupt, trying to inform him that this craft was advanced, it wasn’t easy. But before you can, Tony’s been pressing a few buttons on the control panel of the pilots seat and he makes a sound of pleasant surprise.

“ _ Good evening. I am EVE. I am here to protect you. _ ”

“Amazing,  _ EVE _ ? Really? I didn’t know that the  _ EVE  _ project was still functioning, I had heard it suffered mortal damage, god,  _ ages ago! How are you _ \--”

You interrupt Tony’s rambling, offering a look of  _ Please Explain _ . You watch as his expression shifts from faint embarrassment to absolute glee. And you determine you’re about to find out what Tony does for a living.

“Oh, uh, I work in robotics and artificial intelligence, and part of my focus of study was on the EVE Project, which, by today’s standards, is really archaic -- an ancient PSI researcher had developed a robot with an artificial intelligence and called it  _ EVE _ and it was designed to protect his son, and after the robot ultimately was defeated in an attack, it was assumed the project ended -- BUT THIS CRAFT! IT ANNOUNCED ITSELF AS EVE!” From the pilots seat, Tony had gripped the wheel, nearly exploding with joy as he shook the wheel slightly. 

“I hate to dismiss your excitement, but how can you be sure this isn’t coincidental. I have never heard of something known as the EVE Project before, and I’m a product of the same sort of research --”

“ _ Because I was indeed created with the EVE Project in mind. The pilot is not incorrect. I am EVE Mach 9. I am here to deliver you safely to your destination. _ ” You gaze toward the audio system of the craft and listen to its announcement and Tony leans back in the pilots seat, looking at the panels around him, positively enthralled.

“I had only heard rumors in my office about this craft existing, and I can’t believe it’s real...We heard a tip about a reissue of the EVE Project, and we didn’t expect anything to come of it. My gut was telling me it was going to be an aircraft, and  _ I was right. _ ” His eyes light up as you begin to pull yourself into the second seat of the craft. It’s small inside, probably only big enough for three people -- which was fortunate, or else you were going to have to return to the city with Kumatora on your lap. The craft is clearly not designed for anything more than a small party, but the way it appears to be controlled by an artificial intelligence. . .That was somewhat reassuring.

“ _ EVE _ ,” you ask the system. “Are you in any way obligated to comply with military orders when addressed? As in, if you are asked to disclose where you have traveled and with whom, are you required to answer truthfully.”

A small panel in the center of the console flickers on a sound wave indicating a voice begins to ripple in response. “ _ If I believe the parties I have transported are in immediate danger by divulging the truth, I will not answer questions that may cause harm. I am here to protect you. _ ”

You and Tony exchange a glance -- and after a few moments of Tony conversing with  _ EVE _ and discovering the AI operates on autopilot unless evasive maneuvers are required, there is a small chime of a melody through the speakers and the engine of the craft comes to life. And before you can make much sense of what was occurring, you were in the air.

This was proof how despite being the most advanced soldier the Empire had to offer, you were in the dark about pretty much everything. You were so highly advanced, so highly intelligent, but you knew  _ nothing _ .  _ EVE _ Project? Artificial Intelligence programs? Secret aircrafts? It was all an absolute blur to you. There was so much about this world that you didn’t know about and you were positive there was even more going on behind the scenes that most people weren’t keeping you informed over. Maybe. . .things had just gotten so wild that no one had realized that you needed to be kept in the loop about changes and advancements too? It was hard to tell.

“Tony, do you work for the Empire?” you asked as  _ EVE _ began its descent in front of Osohe Castle.

“Me? No. They’ve apparently tried a few times, but I guess I kept turning them down that they just let it go. Pays to play dumb sometimes!” He turns to you and smiles. “Kind of glad I never did, I don’t know what they’d want to do with an Artificial Intelligence program. . .I can’t imagine it would be anything good. We’ve gotten some contract work, but no one I work with is actively working for the Empire.”

“Then what do you do exactly?” you cannot help but pry.

Tony offers a laugh. “For someone who only just learned how to socialize, you’re not bad at this; I’m pretty bad at talking about myself though. So, uh,” he smiles a bit weakly. “But, uh, hm. Best way to put it is, I help program personalities in robots used for daily use to give the facade of them being alive. I, uh, I got our roomba to call Jeff ‘father,’ he. . .still hasn’t let that go.”

_ EVE _ begins to settle and something in your gut starts to egg you to ask something else. You can respect that Tony doesn’t seem to want to talk about himself, but there’s something you truly want to know, “You helped Dr. Andonauts with the Phase Distorter Gun, right?” you ask. “Tony, you’re from another world too then, aren’t you?”

His gaze falls, and the chipper appearance he wore moments before begins to fade. “Yeah, came through with Jeff...we’re, uh. . .looking for one of his friends. We think he’s here somewhere.” You can see the visible shift in his appearance and you get the sinking feeling it’s best not to let it linger. You put a hand upon Tony’s shoulder to draw his attention.

“You don’t have to speak about anything that pains you,” you say, not sure to what extent the idea seemed to worry him. “But,” you pause as  _ EVE’s _ passenger door begins to open. “I’m sure there are people who will listen when the time comes.”

You and Tony agree that he’ll stay with  _ EVE _ while you go into the castle to retrieve Kumatora. You follow the sound of barking and find yourself entering a hall to see Bonnie, the small chocolate labrador puppy, growling and barking into the room where you’d met Kumatora a few days prior.

Within the room, the woman stood there, her hair pulled up into a sloppy bun at the top of her head, and the room was coursing with thick sparks from the remains of PSI Thunder -- the intensity, you could not be sure of. But thrown back against the wall was a trio of soldiers in full Pigmask uniform. Kumatora was hunched over, panting heavily as she wiped at her mouth with her forearm, smearing some blood from her nose on to her sweater.

Standing upright, she snatches a bag from the couch -- now decorated in leftover snack bags -- and tosses it at you. She heaves a deep breath and gestures at the three incapacitated soldiers.

“They’re already on to us, Claus! We gotta act now, or they’re going to have your head  _ and mine  _  on a platter for that bastard to put on display!” she snaps at you, leaning down to scoop up the small dog into her arms, pushing past you into the hallway leading outside again.

You follow her hastily, wondering just what she put in this bag (You take a peek, it’s all dog related items, toys, leash, food, medicine. Seems fair), before you catch up to her at the castle gates, where she stands there, utterly stunned. Before the two of you, a full line of soldiers, in full uniform, weapons at the ready are facing you. A dozen or so extra surround Tony and  _ EVE _ but. It doesn’t seem as if anyone is actually prepared to fire. Not yet. Kumatora, however, shoves Bonnie into your arms along with the bag and quickly takes a stance, poised to throw a punch or two or forty at whoever came near her.   
  
There’s silence. Neither you nor Kumatora move. You study  _ EVE _ and see Tony sitting inside, unharmed but clearly panicked. You begin to speak to Kumatora. You are quiet.

“ _ Don’t. Do. Anything _ .” you say. “ _ This is about me, not you _ .”

“Oh will you shut up, not everything that happens in this world is about you, Claus! The Empire isn’t obsessed with you twenty-four-seven! You’re just their toy! I’m on their Most Wanted List! This is  _ definitely _ not a you thing!”

“ _ Well, Christ, I’m sorry! I only just stole a secret military aircraft to come bring you to the rest of the movement! I’m pretty sure this is kind of a me thing too! _ ”

“ _ Oh my god.  _ You aren’t even  _ listening _ to me! I --”

And yet your arguing in this moment was just loud enough to alert the person who was leading these forces. There’s an oddly high pitched laugh. Something that sounded a bit like a  _ nyehehe _ , and oddly unfitting for the situation at hand. The sound silences you and Kumatora and you notice her visibly grow pale, shaking her head a bit, as if trying to pretend she hadn’t heard the laugh. But you were in the same position. You didn’t want to hear it.

“I really ought to thank you for confirming our suspicions!” the voice is deep, vaguely accented, and certainly not a match for the same laugh its owner produced. From within the crowd of soldiers, he steps forward. Fassad. And your gut becomes only a puddle of acid from the nausea you’re experiencing. “That little trip you took out here the other day alerted us that Kumatora was hiding right under our nose, and tonight just proved it!”

You feel a swift jab to your side as Kumatora drives a punch into your waist with a grunt of, “ _ Told you it was about me _ .”

Fassad begins to approach closer and it clicks.

You have been exposed. Your face has become entirely visible to the second in command of the entire Empire. You have been caught conspiring against the Empire. You have been caught fraternizing with one of the Most Wanted people in the entirety of the Nowhere Islands.

Your name is Claus.

And you are officially an Enemy of the State.

“ _ Good luck, catchin’ me again! _ ” Kumatora snaps at Fassad, arm gesturing out widely, pointing toward  _ EVE _ . “ _ Bonnie! To the ship! _ ” The small dog then proceeds to leap from your arms and quickly moves in a running sprint toward the soldiers circling around the craft. It’s only a moment or so later, does Kumatora start off in the sprint as well, only before snatching the back from you, swinging it over her shoulders. “ _ You’re not taking me without a fight, Fassad! I told you this before and I’ll tell you it time and time again! You can’t take the last Magpie down. Fuckin’ traitor! _ ”

She takes a few steps forward, and aims her hands toward the ground, casting some sort of PSI -- you are not sure what kind -- causing a small blast to propel her forward. The door of  _ EVE  _  opens and Tony sticks his head out, despite the aimed weapons of the soldiers surrounding him. He extends a hand toward Bonnie rushing at the ship and there’s the sound of a sword being brandished and the shimmering of a trio of octagons around the dog, the word “ _ Counter! _ ” coming from Tony’s mouth in a shout before you realize -- you should be running too.

But before you can get far, you are face to face with Fassad who has raised a hand to you to stop you from moving forward. Despite being in full uniform. Despite your rank. You freeze. You stop dead in your tracks. And you feel this unsettling, horrific sensation building in your gut. In Fassad’s hands, you see him holding a remote. A remote you’ve only had to be used on you twice in the past. Once during your youth, and once. . .what. . .was that other time…? You couldn’t remember.

“You’re in quite a lot of trouble, you know.” He says to you, pressing the switch as you feel a strong jolt of electricity course through your person and everything within you grows tense. All but your right arm which slowly extends outward and toward your forehead in a salute that makes you utterly horrified to be performing. Your gut knots itself up and you feel the urge to vomit. But you can’t do that. You’re not capable of doing that. You are not to defy orders. You are the Masked Man. He is under orders to do exactly what the Empire has asked of him.

He makes eye contact with Fassad, his arm unmoving from its position at his forehead. He does not blink, he simply stands at attention awaiting his orders.

“ _ Get rid of them _ ,” Fassad says. He lowers his arm and the panels of his forearm begin to fold back and move into place, forming into the cannon he had been outfitted with. He turns, arm extended toward the escaping woman and the dog, directed at Secret Aerial Craft  _ EVE _ .

_ No. Absolutely not _ .

You grasp your arm, forcing it down. You are not Him. You are not Him.  _ YOU ARE NOT  _ **_HIM_ ** _. _

“ _ GO! _ ” You find yourself calling out loudly as Kumatora throws her fist into the gut of one of the soldiers, crouching just enough so Bonnie can run along its back before leaping into  _ EVE _ . “ _ GO! I’LL FIND YOU! _ ” Kumatora turns, her eyes focus on you, forcing your arm to remain low to the ground.

“ _ YOU BETTER NOT! _ ” she cries out, grasping the edge of the crafts open door. “ _ YOU DID NOT COME ALL THE WAY HERE TO GET ME ONLY TO GET YOURSELF KILLED! _ ” She’s screaming from across the open courtyard, and you have the attention of the soldiers surrounding  _ EVE _ and those in formation behind the craft. But before she can say anything further, you see Tony grab her by the arm and tug her inside, the door closing.

“ _ You insolent, foolish -- _ ” you hear Fassad begin as you feel your arm shoot up again as he presses the remote once more. You feel it fire at nothing, the blast hitting the ground, leaving a smoldering pile of burning grass in its place. “ _ I said get rid of them _ !” he orders again as you grasp your arm, stumbling backwards to avoid letting him get any closer to you. “You have defied the orders of the Empire, resisted your programming and are now associating with criminals. Do you realize what it is you have done? You very well may have doomed us all, you stupid, reckless  _ idiot _ !”

There’s another shock, and this time, you yell out, the pain striking you in such a way you feel it as if it were bouncing back and forth inside your very heart. You turn your eyes to  _ EVE _ , already ascending overhead with intent of returning. This could buy them time, couldn’t it? You find yourself falling to your knees at the next shock. Fassad’s finger is on the button, pressed down to deliver continuous shock.

“We had a feeling it was you!” Fassad declares as he stands over you, hand still firmly pressed on the remotes button. “Care to tell me something? Did your engineer approve the reinstitution of your human traits? Did you know that we  _ never authorized that _ ? Did you know the first person we get rid of after we get you back to working order is going to be that stupid scientist? We’re going to make sure everyone knows how he’s --” 

“Hey --” you choke out as you hold yourself up on the ground, hands and knees digging into the dirt. “ _ Only my...mom calls me reckless.”  _ You gasp, feeling the buzzing heat in your chest from the shocks still coursing through your veins. You are able to get Fassad to lift his hand from the button just long enough that you are able to get to your feet. Perhaps...that was enough time. 

The electricity in your system is enough to send you into something of an overdrive. Not a manic state, but a state where you cannot feel much. And you don’t even notice the ripping of skin as you feel the metal bars of titanium bat wings tearing through the cloth of your uniform, upwards and out like a majestic fan. You don’t notice how the flesh and muscle of your back are screaming at you for some sort of aid. They flap. You gasp. Your fists remain clenched.   
  
And you leap.   
  
And you soar.   
  
You have not flown for almost a decade. You never have a reason to anymore. You always have an escort. You always have transportation and a guide. Perhaps it’s because they never wanted you to have a taste of how it felt to be free. Flying gave you that sort of euphoria. It gave you the feeling of being alone. And in such a way that you were alone by choice. It reminded you of your sense of self. That you were only one person. One person with some extraordinary capabilities. But. . .wasn’t that everyone? Everyone was capable of great things, it was what everyone chose to do at the end of the day.   
  
Fassad tries to shock you again as you raise higher into the sky, but you’re out of range. He calls for the soldiers to open fire. You’re too far for their weapons to reach. Or you’re too fast. You don’t know which. You’re just high enough, just far enough -- just free enough that it doesn’t matter.   
  
You’re rusty at flying, but it comes naturally after a few minutes. The way your body sways and weaves in the sky. The way you twist to maneuver through obstacles. The way the wings fold and expand as you adjust your positioning.   
  
You suppose you never disliked flying. You never disliked your wings.   
  
You realize that they had always just told you that to keep you grounded.

 

* * *

 

“ _ Claus?! Claus come in -- are you okay?! _ ”   
  
You hear Neil’s voice in your ear as you find yourself touching down. You had forgotten how fast wings made you. It took about the same amount of time to return to the city from Osohe Castle as it would have coming in  _ EVE _ . When you land you are at the Viewing Tower of the Astronomy Wing of the Tower. The Viewing Tower is a large platform extending from the building with a variety of telescopes for people to utilize. You land by one of the telescopes, your wings folding up and sliding into your back again. You press the side of your ear again.

“I’m fine.” you answer. “I think we need to act now. Did Kumatora arrive yet?” You hear a loud yelling in the background of her voice calling out, ‘You’re a real piece of work Claus! I cannot believe your brother wanted me to save a piece of shit as wild as you!’

“ _ Did you hear that _ ?” Neil asks, causing you to laugh a bit under your breath. “ _ I’m going to assume you heard that. You’re laughing. Hey did you know I’m allergic to dogs -- _ ”

“Sorry about that, but uh, I think we need to act. If she hasn’t told you yet, she will. We got cornered.” You begin to walk from the landing pad of the Viewing Tower, entering into the shimmery, celestial hallway of the Astronomy Wing, aiming to head toward the elevators. 

“ _ I heard, hey uh, Claus -- we don’t actually know what to do now. We thought we’d have a little more time to act, but what’s on your mind? What’re you going to do? _ ”

“I’m going to kill the King.” you find yourself saying quickly and suddenly, not even realizing what you had said until you stepped on to the elevator.

“ _ Oh that sounds reasonable -- WAIT _ . _ Claus did I hear you right? _ ”

“Sorry, I’m on an elevator, you’re breaking up.”

You couldn’t believe that you were acting so much on autopilot. But it felt correct. It felt like something you needed to do. You were an enemy of the empire now. You might as well leave this world as flashy as possible.

That was who you were, wasn’t it? Claus had always been flash and reckless.

And your name is Claus.

 

You suppose, as the elevator opens on the throne rooms floor, that your clearance for accessing this level must not have been revoked yet. You are able to access the floor easily and you’re welcomed to the familiar setting. You swallow thickly as you present your hand to the door and easily pass through the various authorizations to allow you inside.    


The king is in his throne chamber, seemingly asleep. The chill of the room seems colder than it normally does. Perhaps because you know that you are bleeding and you’re more susceptible to the change in temperature -- you’re not sure. You don’t know how the human body works much. This was a question for Neil. You know why you are here. You are fully aware that you are here because you are a human who was turned into a machine due to the aging elderly child within that throne capsule. And you were now his enemy. And you were angry.   
  
But something nagged at you as you approached, the heavy steps of your boots as they clicked along the ground, causing you a sense of unease. You feel something switch in your brain, whispering to you,  _ that’s your best friend. Best friends forever _ . But you must brush off the inkling, which you find yourself doing with a physical wave of your hand as you approach his capsule. But as you draw closer, you hear the fizzle of speakers as they turn on and hear the voice of the being inside.

“Hehehehehe,” you hear his giggle, projected not from speech but through the telepathy transmitted through speakers. “To what do I owe the pleasure of such a late night visit? I heard you were up to something secrety! Don’t ya know it’s not good to keep secrets!”

You don’t smile, but you see the body of your superior crack one in the glass enclosure. He’s clearly amused by your arrival. He was awake, and you cannot tell if he was awake in anticipation of your arrival, or if perhaps he was woken up by the sound of the doors opening. “I simply wanted to learn.” you reply, with an honest truth, albeit not all of it. If he did not ask about it, you would not say anything. 

“What kind of stuff would you wanna learn anyways? It’s not like you need to! You’re a robot. Anything you might need to know, we already made sure you knew!” He’s laughing again but there’s a wheeze as the body in the enclosure begins to cough. Again, you do not smile, nor do you allow him to see a fleck of emotion in response. He is clearly egging you on. He wants answers before you act. He likely knows why you have arrived as well, but you will not give him the satisfaction of knowing why you are there.

“I am a cyborg.” You correct him. “Robots are designed to be entirely mechanical. Furthermore, if I were a humanoid robot, that is an android. Your terminology is incorrect.” You cannot help but correct him. If there is one thing that even when void of emotions that you highly disliked, it was being called a robot when you were very much not one. Over the years the King had called you a robot many times, and you were getting sick of it. It was time to defy him. You often, in your younger years, could get away with it from time to time, but the temptation was strong. And with the plan you had formulated, you could not resist.

As his wheezing ceases you are responded to with silence before the speakers fizzle with a reaction. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re just a robot!” Porky declares amidst his wheezes, almost sitting upright in his capsule, pointing at you like a parent would to a disobedient child. “And robots aren’t allowed to learn  _ anything _ unless  _ I say so! _ ” And thus continues the laughter. You felt your very being rattling, as if a bomb had just been set with a timer. “Besides, if you  _ were _ learning, you’d know all about how you  _ can’t _ be a cyborg! Cyborgs are  _ living _ humans with robotic parts! When we found you, let’s just say there wasn’t much living going on -- ahahahahahaha!!!!” 

And the raucous laughter continues and you feel an ache in your chest. Your heart.  _ Your _ heart was not appreciating this commentary. Yes,  _ you _ knew. You knew that Claus died when he was ten. He became Claus. Claus was locked away in the back of your mind until Kumatora revived him. You were Claus. And you did not appreciate being made fun of.

And you scoff.

“Flawless logic as ever, sir.” you mock, your tone carrying the lyrical chime of discontent. “Why, you are absolutely right. Reanimating the corpse of a  _ child _ to install him with  _ cybernetic attachments and mutations _ to create him into the perfect soldier.  _ Astounding. _ But I believe you’ve forgotten the most crucial part of a cyborg.” And you step closer to him so that Porky may see your face. So he may see that you have felt the flickering of anger. You can make out his gaunt features, the pale, hazy cataracts of his eyes as he studies you in turn. “A cyborg must be organic. And corpse, or no, the flesh is still organic. And that,  _ sir _ , is something I have learned, despite your misconceptions about me.” You stand before the capsule, a scowl decorating your face as you stand there, fists clenched, uniform in tatters from your escape, dirt on your hands and face from your resistance. “I have learned many an interesting thing about what it means to be organic,  _ your Highness _ . And I must say. . . _ It’s not good to keep secrets _ .”

And then static fills the room, you assume, from Porky not knowing how to react. You watch as his expression goes from that of youthful glee, taken from the joy of antagonizing someone, to that of frustration and soon, you watch as it changes to rage. Radio feedback fills the room. You instinctively activate a switch in your system to dull the sound so it does not rupture the auditory processing system you’ve had installed to keep your hearing system in tact.

“Are you  _ seriously _ trying to pick a fight with me?!!!” Porky’s voice rings out through the room and you cannot help but rescind the bold step forward you had taken. He knew about your endeavors. He knew you were acting against the Empire. He knew. And he seemed to truly believe that you would not act accordingly. “You’re wrong! Wrong wrong wrong wrong wroooooooooong! If I say you’re a robot, you’re a robot! If I say you’re my servant, you’re my servant! If I say you’re not allowed to do something, you  _ do exactly what I say!!!! I GET TO KEEP SECRETS BECAUSE I’M IN CHARGE! AND YOU LIED TO ME!!!” _

The enclosure he’s in begins to rattle. The sheer anger and rage from the King enough to manifest as a form of PSI of its own. This pure rage the dimensional traveler carried was enough to tap into his own psychic potential. He could only keep his composure about the betrayal at hand so long before he eventually erupted. And this was what you were privy to witness.

“Had I been a robot, I would have done just that. I would not have acted on my own. I would not have become  _ curious. _ ” you say. “But you have made some miscalculations. You see, as I have grown to accept my residual humanity, some parts of the human experience have returned to me. Curiosity being one. You cannot expect something with sentience to simply sit back and not question their origins, can you? Especially after what I have learned.”

“I can because  _ you’re my servant!!!! _ ” Porky’s voice screeches again over the intercom. As you expected, the mere idea that you were the one to turn on him, was enough to send him into a fit. But what could he do? You were his ticket to ending this world if he so chose it. You watch as sparks start flying from the capsule -- something tells you to step away. 

Though you knew King Porky was not a PSI user by nature. His capsule seemed to be what caused him to use the abilities so smoothly, without any complications. As he screeched and raged, the capsule began to spark as electricity began to flicker off and strike at the ground around it before it started to charge up into a heinous blue-white ball of light over the device.

It clicks. The human instinct of fight or flight kicks in somewhere in your mind, and it registers. The electricity around the capsule is being directed at you. That enormous ball of static was being charged up with the intention of striking you down. To be rid of the problem before it got much worse. 

A deep, aching thud from your heart tells you to move. But your hand slips into your pocket, the small, brass button Kumatora had given you was tucked inside. You scan it. Franklin Badge -- Reflects Electricity. You don’t hesitate. You fasten it to your collar. And the ball of lightning is released as it strikes you in the chest. You feel the surge of electricity gushing through you as it makes contact -- but it goes through you with only the slightest of tingles, directed right back at the source.

Your heart thuds.

_ You see Lucas’s face in your mind, looking down at you. _ __   
_   
_ __ You release a breath you had not realized you were holding in.

The capsule short circuits and the mechanical legs holding it collapse and the bed portion crashes to the floor. The intercom crackles, perhaps being blown out from the contact. And you approach the mess. Your arm, without you even realizing it, has changed its form. It’s a cannon, like you had used in your youth. Destructive. Powerful. Brutal. Designed to waste things away.

“You wouldn’t dare end me,” you speak lowly as you stand over the bed, the glass cracked and the King. Though looking quite a disheveled disaster,  he gazes at you with a wheezing laugh whistling from his throat. “I am the only one who can pull the last needle. But I wish to leave you with something more horrific. A world of your own failure. A world where the people have stood up against the man-child they were forced to call King!” You feel the heat of the cannon as energy begins building up. Kinetic energy from your own person, the kind of power that you know would wind you, leaving you vulnerable. You hold the weapon over the body of the child-monster ( _ But he’s your best friend!!)  _ you had been regarding as a king. “You knew it was me. You knew I was the one who was going to turn on you, yet you said nothing. You did nothing. You let me believe I was in a position to succeed! You’ve let innocent people die, all for the sake of your own power trip!”

And Porky does not react. It’s as if he was waiting for you to release the energy build up in your cannon. He does not answer. It was as if he were waiting. Waiting for you to kill him.

_ “Hickery dickery dock! The Mouse went up the clock! The clock struck one and down he run, hickery dickery dock!”  _ Porky laughs between his gasps for a breath, his voice raw and dry as he lives a frail arm with skin sagging down around it. “You better run, time’s almost up! And I think you’ve --” he wheezes again and through the smoldering residual electricity, his arm drops to a switch causing the lights in the room shut off and are replaced with the painful sting of red lights. “ _ They’re gonna be on you faster than you can call for your momma!” _

You turn, your cannon quickly cooling down and reforming into your arm, powering off. And you turn into a sprint. He was testing you. He was turning this into a game. He was going to give you a heads start, just like the child he was. Just like the twisted mastermind he was. You press your ear to call Neil.

“You’re right about  _ one thing _ ,” Porky snorts, before the intercom’s back up power kicks in and his voice returns to that of the speakers as you begin to run from the room. “You’re not a robot! You’re just a zombie! A zombie who better start running! I know you know EXACTLY what we do to people like you who turn their backs on us!”

* * *

 

“ _ Viewing Tower,  _ **_NOW_ ** .” You say into the call to Neil as you find yourself bolting through the halls. Your clearance to the elevator immediately revoked with the press of the button, leaving you to sprint down stairs to the correct floor.

The hallways of the building are filled with the ominous laughter and announcements from a critically injured King Porky, announcing that the traitor to the Empire has been revealed. It was none other than their own Masked Man. The very project they had prided themselves on for years. The Masked Man had gone rogue.

Soldiers on the night watch were coming from the woodwork, armed to the nines, forming blockades to prevent you from getting anywhere. You had always know how it felt to run. But this was the first time in your life you could recall the feeling of running for your life. You were built to be hard to apprehend. Hard to hit. Hard to slow down. With each blockade, you could slip through without minimal damage to yourself or others. While you were created to be a violent killing machine, you were more than capable of being non-lethal.

“ _ Claus? Claus what’s going on?! The entire building’s on lockdown? Claus?” _

“Might have tried to kill the King.” you say into your ear, as you hear Kumatora laughing in your head.

“ _ Nice job buddy! Now we’re going to fuckin’ fail! Proud of you sport! _ ”

“Can you tell Kumatora to please not mock me, I thought I would have a better chance.” you announce as you disarm a soldier as you enter the stairway that would take you from your currently ninety-eight floor downwards. “I need those of you who are required to get me to this other world to get to the Viewing Tower opposite Dr. Andonauts office  _ now _ .”

_“Claus? Jeff Andonauts here.”_ you hear the voice on the call change. “ _The entire building is currently on lockdown, but according to my mother’s research, if you get the Phase Distorter Gun from her office, you should be able to give us a gateway if you fire it at a low frequency._ _Can you manage to get there?_ ”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” you say as you hop a railing to avoid a blockade in the stairwell, leading you to the ninety-seventh floor. You would need to sprint across the floor to the next stairwell. What an absolutely unfriendly user system for stairs. “I’m on the ninety-seventh floor right now, might be a few minutes. Sort of alerted the entire night army of my activities.”

“ _ Hi, this is Tony! I’m seeing if I can lend you a hand. Neil gave me his credentials to log into the security systems he has access too. I’m overriding the installed AI in the system to treat anyone in uniform as a hostile. You should probably remove your coat, I’m tracking you at the moment, I can --” _

_ “ _ Where are you all doing this from?” you can’t help but ask as you start to wriggle out of your coat, only to take the small Franklin Badge from your collar, fastening it to the button up shirt you wore beneath. “I can’t imagine my apartment is very secure.”

“ _ Claus, my boy, Dr. Andonauts. The gentleman, not my wife, we’ve had a secure base with a number of our colleagues in the slum district for quite some time. Lots of residents of your hometown are here. _ ”

“ _ Claus?! It’s Richie! Are you okay!?” _

“ _ Wait, that’s really Claus?! He’s been alive this whole time? Claus! Claus it’s Lighter! I thought Fuel was just pullin’ my leg when he said he knew where you were! _ ”

“ _ No way, the Masked Man was really Claus? I told my mom you were alive!” _

_ “Hey, Claus? Where’s Lucas --” _

You find that the call begins to fizzle out and as it does. . .the soldiers become fewer and fewer. You’re able to descend the floors from the Ninety-seventh, to the ninety-fifth, to the ninety-first, to the eighty-ninth. . .   
  
And you make it to the eighty-sixth floor without incident. The stairwell opens up to Dr. Andonauts’ office. It’s quiet and has a comforting scent, the room still lit with soft, mood lighting to keep it comforting. But you are not alone. You have company. Standing by the desk, the bottle with the white ship contained in his hands, dressed in navy blue military dress, is Commander N.

“I told you,” he says somewhat solemnly, looking at the ship inside. “I didn’t want to have to turn on you.” He gazes up at you, setting the bottle back down, relieving the sudden nag of fear that had struck you as you had expected him to break it on the spot. His expression is oddly soft for him as his violet and gold eyes study you, as if searching for some sort of reason to not act. “Being out of uniform, it suits you.” he says quietly. “Like it’s meant for you to look like this.”

He raises his hands to you, seeming to be willing to discuss with you before he decides he needs to turn on you. You inhale slowly and glance toward the ship in the bottle. He knows the bottle. He knows what the ship is for.

“I don’t want to fight you, N.” you say calmly, taking a step toward the desk. He lowers his cybernetic arm and points his palm to you, his brow furrowed as he stares you down with a scowl forming on his face.

“Neither do I, so do me a favor and  _ don’t move _ . There are even more dangerous chimeras roaming this building looking to tear you apart and I won’t hesitate to call on one of them to do this for me. I’d rather not live with this on my conscience if I don’t have to.” You can see acting so militaristically might not be something he wishes to be doing in this moment.

It’s like the look on his face is begging to come with you. But you know asking him that would be out of the question.

You step back to place your own hands going up for a moment. “N, I need you to understand why I’m doing this,” you say, trying to level with him. “You see it too. This world is wrong. It’s corrupt. This isn’t right. We are not supposed to be living this way. I’m not. Neither are you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” N says, tilting his head to the side with a crack. “This world is fine --”

“You  _ said _ you would have gone home if you had the chance, didn’t you? That’s what I’m trying to do. Give you that chance. Give me that chance.” You find yourself inhaling sharply, trying to sneak a step to the desk again -- only to be startled by the sound of something banging overhead.

“Not  _ now _ 10!” Commander N snaps, exasperated as overhead there’s a loud clattering and a shuffling sound. You take the distraction to get closer to the desk. “ _ We are not acting! _ ” You stand by the desk, the bottle within reach. And by the time N has his focus on you again, you are behind the desk, hands still raised defensively. His eyes narrow, knowing full well what you just did.

“You have me surrounded, don’t you?” You ask, making a quick grab for the bottle, holding your own arm out at N, threatening to convert it as well. “You have chimera’s in the air vents to drop down and take me out if I move in a way you don’t like. Don’t you?”

Commander N sighs and stare at the ceiling for a moment, and a raspy wheeze of “ _ Sorrrrrry N. _ ” comes through one of the grates before he Commander presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose. He nods in solemn defeat.

“Just one,” he admits. “But clearly he’s been too noisy so  _ he’s dismissed _ , and now it’s just you and me. Now if you will, please. . .put down the gun and come with me. You can turn yourself in. We’ll deactivate and factory reset you and we’ll see to it that none of the identities of the people you’re working with are exposed. I’ll even see if I can keep them from torturing Kumatora, if that’s what you want. But you need to give it up and come with me. The game’s over.”

“I can’t do that, N.” you say, starting to make your way from around the desk, the other Commander’s hand following you as you do so. “You and I both know this world is crooked. And if you could open your eyes a little more you would see that.”

“I have my eyes open plenty and though I’m inclined to agree with you --”

“ _ Then let me go _ .”

“I am fulfilling my purpose. You have turned on my King and my best friend, and I cannot allow you to walk out of here a winner.” The panels of his arm begin to adjust and adapt, and light begins to build from his hand. “Please, R. I need you to back down or I’ll be forced to fire.”

_ “Yeah, came through with Jeff...we’re, uh. . .looking for one of his friends. We think he’s here somewhere.” _

“N, before you do --” you step closer until you can feel the heat from his weaponized arm. “You’re from another world too. . .” You knew you were about to regret the next words that came out of your mouth. You knew that you could possibly be digging yourself a grave as you spoke. “ _ Do you ever wonder about Jeff _ ?”

He falters. He falters and withdraws his arm, blinking in such a way it was as if he suddenly was snapped from a trance. “ _Sorry_?” he asks, studying you over, his eyes falling on the small brass badge on your collar. “That’s -- that’s a Franklin Badge, hey, hey where’d you --” He steps toward you, his hand grasping your collar touching the button with a finger from his organic arm. “Get that...My friend? Friend --” He looks up at you. “Commander? _Where_ _did you get one of those_.”

Commander N draws in a soft gasp and you manage to step around him toward the door of the room.

“Let me go, and you’ll find out.”

And he watches you with an expression indicative of someone who has just experienced an epiphany. And as you open the door he asks: “Do you promise?”

And you offer him a smile. As genuine as you can muster.

“Of course.”

 

* * *

 

Through some instruction from the entire Andonauts family, you are taught how to use this gun. At a low frequency. At its lowest frequency, it can allow people to teleport short distances. Like opening a door and winding up in a totally different location. Provided its within a small enough vicinity. You smashed the bottle and on deck of a ship was a small steering wheel that by twisting it changed the shape of the ship into a small gun, that almost appeared to be something out of a science fiction movie from the turn of the century. By twisting a knob on the side of the gun you could open a small gateway at a low, short term frequency that would do nothing but maybe give someone a zit in an unpleasant spot.

Which thankfully it didn’t do even that as it brought through Drs. Andonauts, Neil, Jeff, Tony and Kumatora -- Bonnie had safely been left in the hideout for Operation Hummingbird. The group of you stand on the balcony that is the Viewing Tower. It’s a wide, semicircle like platform with three different telescopes positioned to focus on different spots in the night sky. The ground beneath your feet gave off the effect of stained glass without it being such. But it shimmered in the sparkling light of the sky above as if it were.

“Kumatora,” you say, getting her attention. But she doesn’t answer you. Instead she stomps toward you and without so much as a beat of a hesitation, does her fist connect with your jaw, causing your head to spin, and the wind to rush out of you. She’s clearly furious, but as you come to, she throws her arms around you in what you suppose is the first genuinely thoughtful means of expression affection, in years. You smile a little and let her have this moment, your own arms wrapping around her as well.

“You stupid fucking bastard,” she says. “I seriously thought you were going to die and I couldn’t handle watching you die too. You have the same face --”

“Hey,” you say to her as you pull back, offering her a smile. “I survived. I’m here. You’re here. We’re alive. You think we can still do it? We’re a day early.” She sniffles a bit, and you can tell she was desperately trying not to cry as she held you in that embrace.

“Should be fine,” she sniffs. “My visions are only approximate, we should be able to get it open. I was able to restore my energy for PSI, so as long as I don’t use any between now and opening the gateway, it’ll work it.”

To the side, Drs. Andonauts and Tony had begun their calibration of the gun to get it charged for its usage. As they work, however, Jeff approaches you with a look of polite apprehension. “If I may have a word,” he says, guiding you away from the others. “Tony told me you, mentioned knowing about us from being another world, could I ask then, if you don’t mind,” He glances toward his family working. “Have you encountered a man about my age, dark hair, a little on the heavy side, round face. Goes by the name Ness. . .”

Jeff reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wallet, retrieving a small folded up photograph of four children, a blonde boy that you can assume to be Jeff, a young girl in a pink dress with blonde hair, a boy from what you suspect is far eastern descent. . .and. . .

“He goes by Commander N.” you say, immediately knowing the face of the boy in the photo, wearing a striped shirt and red cap, offering a peace sign to the camera. “He is here. I -- “

“ _ Tony! _ ” Jeff suddenly calls out rushing over to his partner, grabbing his hands in absolute joy. “ _ He’s here! He’s in this world! Claus knows him! _ ”

You reach out to stop their celebration, but you pause, only to find Neil touching your arm to prevent you from interrupting. “It’s best if you don’t stir that pot anymore, I think.” Neil says quietly. “Meddling in other worlds to look for people only ever does more harm than good. This isn’t your business anymore,”

“Did you know?” you ask as Neil begins to fuss with the hem of his coat. “That Commander N is that boy?”

“Yes, but he was never my project. I worked on him but he wasn’t mine. He wasn’t even Dr. Andonauts to survey. Someone else studied him and modeled him. Not sure who. I don’t think they’re even with us anymore.” He shrugs a bit and you look at Neil with something of curiosity. “What?” he asks, noticing your eyes on him. He pulls his focus away and turns it to the Andounauts family.

“You’re going to miss me.” you comment.

“Of course I am.” he agrees. “I’ve only been working on your for the past decade and a half. . .You’re my pet project. And, well, I would hope I could call you a friend. Yes, I am going to miss you. A lot. I’m going to be disgusting lonely here. And probably on the run from the law. Or dead. But. . .” He smirks as he looks you over. “Maybe I’ll find a way to come after you. I’m not a PSI user, but I’m sure SCI users could come through eventually.”

. . .Yet another feature you did not know about.

“What’s the difference? You just said the same thing.”

“Oh, PSI and SCI. As in S-C-I. Scientific PSI. Oh --” He flushes, staring off at nothing, vaguely embarrassed. “We, didn’t. . .tell you that did we? In the past three years, we’ve finished developing Scientifically Produced PSI, but I’ll tell you about it another time. If I ever get over there --”

“ _ COMPANY! _ ” You hear Kumatora shout as she stands by the Andonauts family, shielding them as they finish the calibration. The family looks up from their gun and Hailey quickly turns a dial on it as Tony puts away a screwdriver and the group of them all appear guarded in their position for a moment. The doors to the Viewing Tower open and slowly, almost like a floor, armed soldiers start to flood the only exit of the tower.   
  
The front of the lineup none other than a newly re-capsuled King Porky, Fassad to his left followed by the slew of soldiers. There are no spoken orders. But the next moments are quick. Faster than you can make full sense of.   
  
Hailey Andonauts fires the Phase Distorter Gun into the night sky. It warps, spirals and stretches as if it were putty in the hands of a child. It fizzles and warps and slowly begins to spin in place right in the location of where the moon would have been had it been full that night. Jeff and Dr. Andonauts both produce what appear to be explosives and lunge them at the crowd. Tony pulls out a remote control and presses a button and various security guns for the tower react and activate aiming at the soldiers. And Neil, who you had never suspected to be combative activates both of his arms, the tips of his fingers pulling back to reveal ten small barrels, each charging up with some sort of kinetic energy.   
  
And no sooner does all this happen do each and every one of them get apprehended by various soldiers, leaving only you and Kumatora able to act.   
  
You hear Hailey cry out for Kumatora to activate PSI Meta. But she looks to you. She looks to you with what you note to be very real fear. You hear her say in your mind:

“ _ Trust me. I believe you’ll make up where I can’t. _ ”

She lifts an arm as she faces the army slowly flooding the Viewing Tower. She inhales slowly and exhales, and softly she speaks. “PK. . .” And she inhales, her breath turning into a shout, “ _ STARSTORM! _ ” she cries out as the stars above begin to twinkle and seem to come to life. And many begin to trickle down through space and down to earth, coming down as shooting stars and comets and meteors to do her bidding. To protect the people who still lived in this world. To protect someone. To protect the people that mattered.   
  
The come down in a striking collision against various soldiers, avoiding the Andonauts family and Neil and you and she. And with each strike and each twinkle of cosmic energy she moves her hands and arms in such a way to direct their trajectory. And she looks to you with a twinkle of her own in her eyes and she uses whatever she has left in her to cause you to levitate from the ground. And she smiles and she calls out, “ _ PK Meta!” _   
  
And she swings you, sending you flying through the sky, between the stars as the come crashing down on the Viewing Tower. She makes you into a star yourself as you feel the pull of the warping hole from the Phase Distorter Gun. The portal. The gateway. The entrance to a world where you would make things right. You watch the display below.   
  
The faces of the people who you now truly knew you loved.   
  
And in a blink of an eye.   
  
They were gone.   
  
And so were you.

 

* * *

  
  


You open your eyes. And above you. Sunshine. Beneath you. The softness of grass. There’s a soft, faint breeze and you can’t help but close your eyes for a moment. You inhale slowly. You take in the scent of familiar surroundings. Of nostalgic, peaceful moments. In your mind, you are ten years old again. You are waiting for Lucas to wake up so you can play with the dragos. You’re going home soon. You want to enjoy this last day.   
  
“Well, it certainly isn’t every day your future grandson falls out of the sky, now is it?”

And your eyes open. And looking over you is the bespectacled smiling face of an elderly man with white hair and a tan work hat. And you sit up rubbing your face and your eyes to find you were still in tact, bewilderment striking you, and it clicks --

“Grandpa Alec?”

 

You had made it to the other world.

You were home.   
  


* * *

 

You wake up at the Oriander Plateau. You know this place well. It’s from your childhood, although it has been many years since you had first arrived here and subsequently just as long since you had last departed. It was early morning, perhaps not even seven yet. Appropriate considering your internal alarms. However, as you tried to tap into them, you witnessed the message pop up in your left eye: System Offline. Seemed appropriate.

As you come to, Alec corrals various animals away from you and offers his hand to let you stand, and you take it graciously, returning to your feet with something of a wobble as vertigo sets in. You reach for a nearby fence to steady yourself.

“You…” you begin to speak, astounded that you survived that trip, and what you are guessing was a fall from overhead. “Recognize me?” you ask, taking in a sharp breath, wincing as you realize you are in  _ quite a bit of pain _ . Alec smiles and reaches up, patting your cheeks -- organic and metallic.

“Why, I know my daughter’s face anywhere. And stranger things have happened in Tazmily Village. My adult grandson falling from the sky is by far not the strangest thing I’ve ever witnessed. It was only a matter of time.” He smiles warmly, his voice hoarse with that of age. You offer him a weak smile. “What have they done to you, my boy?” And his expression falls before he steps back, guiding you to his side. “Come inside, Claus, let me fix you something to eat; when was the last time you ate?”

You find yourself answering honestly. “Probably about six weeks ago, I’m quite alright.” you answer, but it appears your grandfather is not having that as he guides you inside, sitting you at a sturdy, self-built wooden table, quickly putting out a plate, utensils and a glass of water for you.

“Nonsense, even if you do appear to be partly mechanical now, that is no excuse not to eat. Your mother would be quite upset with you. I don’t have any eggs currently, so I can’t make your favorite -- ah. I know.” You don’t question his hospitality, and surely there was not even the slightest indication this was faked. Alec knew who you were. He said your name. It’s a genuine need to care for flesh and blood and.

_ This is the first time you have been around your family in twenty years _ .

“I’m...really here.” you say quietly as Alec busies himself at a small kitchenette, the smell of cooking meat catches your attention and you genuinely feel your stomach growl, and your mouth begin to water. You’re hungry. You’re  _ starving _ . You could probably eat for days if Alec provided you with enough food. But you didn’t want to run him dry like that. “I actually...made it through oh my god.” And you suddenly pull yourself away from the table. “Twins. I gotta get to the twins --”

“Now, now,” Alec says quietly as he sets down a plate of homefries in front of you, seeming to get the idea that you must be famished. “I’m going to see the boys later today, you can come with me. I could use the protection for the trip down there.” He places his hand on your shoulder and squeezes reassuringly. “One of your mother’s friends has been watching them since…” he stops and he just offers a smile before returning to cooking. “They’re shaken, haven’t quite processed what’s happened yet, but they’re tough boys. You ought to know. You’re proof itself that at the very least Claus is tough as nails.”

“Lucas is too,” you quickly say in retaliation before discovering how quickly you can eat food again. The way family cooking tastes in your mouth makes you practically melt in your seat. The smokiness of the seasoning, the kick of black and white pepper, the tang of salt. You close your eyes and conclude that this may be one of the single best things you’ve ever consumed. You devour the plate in mere seconds before realize you may be choking, and reach for the glass of water to force everything down. It’s at this time that Alec places a plate with two biscuits covered in gravy in front of you, with a side of cooked ham. You don’t hesitate so much at this, and Alec sits across from you, studying you in such a way that tells you to slow down.

“I hate to rush you,” Alec says softly. “But your arrival here is awfully well timed considering the events Tazmily has experienced. Are you here to help, by any chance?”

You swallow and take this as a sign to put down your utensils. “Yes, I am.” you answer. “Uh,  _ grandfather _ .” You are not sure how to address him. “You are correct. I am Claus. From the future, but another world as well. And that world is bleak. It needs to be fixed so, I’ve been sent here by a woman by the name of Kumatora...And she wants me to take care of these boys.”

“I see,” Alec says reaching for a pitcher on the table to pour you some more water. “Well, that’s not the strangest thing to happen. Tazmily experiencing the tragedy it just underwent is, in fact, much odder. Events like...the death of your parents, that just does not happen to us.”

“I understand.” you say, studying the room around you, your scanner focusing on Alec.

Age 68, your grandfather. Rancher. Local flavor. Knowledgeable on current events.

You swallow another mouthful of food, and decide to address Alec’s question. “You asked what happened to me, didn’t you?” you ask, sitting back in your chair, hands in your lap. “As a child, I was abducted by a military unit and was brainwashed and formed into a cybernetic soldier designed to follow any and all orders. I recently had the brainwashing undone and have been learning how to be an ordinary human being again.” You swallow, waiting for a reaction but end up opting to explain further. You rest your arm on the table. Quite literally, as you had started to detach the robotic arm from your elbow and placed it on the table surface so that your grandfather could see it. You also turn on the light behind your scanner to reveal to him some of the further enhancements, concluding with pressing the button on the facial panel you had installed to show him how it was installed. “I’m a cyborg now. I am not an ordinary human being any longer. And --” You watch as Alec lifts your arm, astonished at the weight of it. “How am I going to arrive in this village without scaring everyone off?”

“Well, for starters,” Alec says as he offers your arm back to you. “I have some of your fathers clothes here from the last time he came with your mother. It might fit you. We ought to put you in something less disheveled for starters.” Alec stands from the table and vanishes around a corner for a moment, only to return with an armful of clothing which he drapes over the back of one of the unused chairs.

“That’s a start, but I’m still sporting cybernetic limbs and features.” You add as you finish another mouthful of food before reattaching your arm and turning off your extraneous cybernetics. “How are we going to explain this?”

“We can say you’re from the city. In the far east of the island.” Alec hums a bit, holding up some of the clothing, trying to determine which ones would fit. “I can remind the residents of Tazmily that Hinawa has a brother. Tell them all that your mother had instructed me to call him to take care of the boys if anything were to ever happen to her or your father.” He smiles broadly. “We could easily call you their Uncle Claus, but that might get confusing - oh, I know.”

He shoves a dark green flannel shirt into your arms and steps into the other room again, coming out with what looked to be an actual cowboy hat. You offer a laugh.

“Are you truly going to make me embody the look of a city dweller going to the country for the first time?” you ask, starting to unbutton your shirt with the intention of changing.

“Not yet, you’re getting yourself bathed first.” Alec says, giving you the hat as well. “They’ll be more distracted by you not knowing how to dress for the country than you having cybernetics -- as for the name!” He smiles and pats your cheeks again. “You’ll be the boy’s Uncle Clay!”   
  


Your name was Claus. However, starting today, you were going to be using the name Clay. After being sent to an alternate world where your younger self and your twin were left orphaned after tragedy took their parents from them, you woke up on a ranch owned by your grandfather, who quickly accepted your origins and offered to help. He helped fit you with new clothes and a new identity to help you enter Tazmily Village.   
  
You would take the identity of Clay, Hinawa’s younger brother, who had arrived after hearing about her untimely disappearance, with the intent to take care of her children. You were not sure how well this would work. You were a visible cyborg. And.

* * *

 

You stood with Alec in front of a wooden well at the center of a small town. It was surrounded by rustic, wooden buildings, all clearly expertly maintained and cared for by the people of Tazmily Village. You could not recall the details of this town much yourself but you never quite remembered finding the construction of the town as remarkable as this. It was quaint but well cared for and you looked off into the distance, noticing a path that you recalled would take you to your childhood home.

Your arrival had lured quite a crowd of people. Alec had helped make you presentable after you had gotten dressed and he’d helped make sure that despite your clearly robotic enhancements, you were an ordinary person. You stand at his side as the people of the village began to whisper. You could hear them discussing you. First the fire. Then Flint’s death. Followed by Hinawa’s disappearance. It was all so suspicious.

“Folks, please, I know he might be new to all of you, but please accept my son.” Alec gestures at you. You would be playing the role of his son, one that the people of Tazmily had coincidentally never heard of. “I know Hinawa would have wished for her children to be cared for by her own flesh and blood.” You scan the crowd and lean over toward Alec a moment.

“The boys aren’t here,” you say softly.

“I think, I’ll speak first,” a young woman with dark brown hair in a yellow gown speaks up. “How can we be so sure that you aren’t responsible for Hinawa’s disappearance?”

“Because I was on my way here to see her when I received the news,” you say, filling in a blank. “She and I had an agreement, if either of us had children, we would drop what we were doing to take care of each others children should something happen. And as I don’t have children of my own, I came here.”

Another figure spoke up -- you recognized this to be Fuel’s father, Lighter. “So you just packed up your big city life to come here and take care of these children. Just like that?”

“I packed it up to visit my family, I’ve since called my employer to inform him of a need for extended leave. I promise,” you say stepping forward, swallowing thickly. “I am here to take care of Claus and Lucas. I can’t guarantee I’ll be very good at taking care of the ranch, but I’m here for them. I understand, this is all very strange for you, and I may appear to be the least likely person to step out of the woodwork, but this was going to be my first time meeting the boys. And I want to make sure I leave a positive mark on their lives.” You take a breath as you study the crowd again. “I promise, if my sister returns, I’ll stay only as long as she needs me, and unless you want me to stay, I’ll leave as soon as my job is done.”

You already knew the truth about Hinawa. You already knew she was dead. You wouldn’t tell these people that you knew. You knew Alec knew. You knew Alec could tell in his heart that his daughter was dead. He knew, and you knew, these boys were orphaned.

The crowd begins to murmur. And soon Alec comes forward.

“If it reassures any of you, I will stay for a few days to ensure that my son will be able to handle the boys. If I don’t think he can succeed, I’ll send him home and I’ll move back to Tazmily myself and take care of Claus and Lucas.”

And yet, this is what convinces the crowd of Tazmily citizens to accept you. This little insistence from Alec that he’ll be watching you. You frankly find it surprising how easy it was. There was no reason the people of this secluded village should accept you, but yet. Here they were.

And here you were as well.

  
  


Alec begins to lead you to the ranch in the southern part of Tazmily Village. You don’t need him to lead. If anything you have the urge to sprint there, but you allow him to guide you, as if you were new to town. Perhaps it was just to allow the residents of the town to truly believe you weren’t familiar with the land. But you feel your heart racing as you see the nostalgic wooden cabin at the top of the hill, and hear the bleating of sheep, and the soft rustling of the water below and your mind begins screaming to you:  _ You’re home. You’re home. You’re home! _

“Now, Claus,” Alec says as he takes one of the turns with you. “I have faith the people of Tazmily will see you with these boys and accept you as one of their own. I’m not sure how you’ll be able to handle taking care of a family, but if you are anything like your mother, it’ll come naturally. Your mother and grandmother were such naturals at running a home, and I suspect you will be too.”

It strikes you in that moment that you have no idea how well the boys will handle meeting you. “What if they don’t like me?” you ask as you and Alec begin to ascend the hill. A stray sheep had come down the hill to greet you and he, which Alec scratches on the head and begins to guide back up.

“It may take some time, it always does for children, and they’re a bit sensitive right now, so it only makes sense that they might be cautious around someone new.” He speaks calmly and reassuringly. “Especially since you’re new, unfamiliar family.”

“If I remember myself the way I think I do,” you say solemnly. “I’m going to think I’m some sort of villain.” Alec laughs. You smile.

“You do know yourself well, but if you do remember yourself at all, you also will know that you’re the type to get very attached and very quickly.” 

At the top of the hill, you’re surrounded by sheep and they’re all nudging and tugging at you and Alec as if desperate for some sort of attention. They bleat noisily and some headbutt you, some try to chew on the hems of sleeves and shirts, but they’re quickly coerced off of you by Alec, a man who clearly knew what he was doing. He maneuvers through the sheep and approaches the door of the house, knocking gently.

“Boys? It’s your grandfather. I’ve brought someone with me who needs to meet you. Could we come in?” The only response is that of a dog barking, but after a moment you pick up on the sound of whispers. If you can’t get through to these boys, then, this entire endeavor might have been for nothing. You swallow thickly and put a hand on Alec’s shoulder.

“Maybe it’s too soon,” you say, suspecting that perhaps you might want to come back later.

“Who’s with you?” you hear from the other side of the door, and you immediately recognize it as your voice. You feel the bubbling of warmth course through you at his voice. Your voice? You aren’t sure how to phrase it.  _ Claus’s voice _ . 

“Well, boys,” Alec says against the door. “It’s your uncle. Your mother’s brother. He was supposed to be here to visit you boys when you were at my house the other day, but he was delayed. Now, he’s here. And I think he’d like to stay with you for a little while, if you’d like to get to know him.”

You hold in a breath. You hold it desperately hoping for a positive answer. You hear the boys inside muttering and the dog barking enthusiastically. Your eyes clenched shut and you wait to hear them say no.

But you hear the door open instead. 

Looking past Alec, you note the two boys. Small children. Both dressed in shirts with horizontal stripes, one with yellow and red, the other blue and yellow. The blonde boy, Lucas, stands behind Claus, a redhead like yourself. They both seem poised to protect themselves. Within Claus’s hand is a small knife, and Lucas was clutching a large stick from the lumber pile behind him. Clearly both children were scared, and you couldn’t blame them. Each child had eyes, puffy from crying and sleeplessness and. . .

You wondered if this is what parental instinct was.

But no sooner do the boys see you, does Claus point his knife at you and Lucas’s grip on his stick grow tighter. As you had suspected. You step back and raise your hands to your chest so they could see you clearly. And your heart sinks.

“Why’s he all metal?!” Lucas cries out. “Why’s he like that!”

“Lucas!” Alec scolds quickly.

“He’s right! Why’s he got metal on his face and what’s with his arm?! He’s a robot!”

_ Ouch. _

“Alec, this wasn’t a good idea.” you say softly. “They’re reacting the same as everyone else, I should have waited --” But no sooner do you speak does a hefty, brown, Labrador retriever begin bounding out past the boys, barking and tail wagging furiously.

“ _ Boney, no _ ! He’s a robot!” Lucas calls out quickly, but the dog approaches you and begins to jump on to his hind legs, paws pressing against your stomach, his tail swishing back and forth wildly. You hadn’t expected this sort of greeting from anyone, especially a dog and as you look down at the sweet, deep brown eyes of this dog, his ears pressed back and a look of pure adoration plastered on his face, you find yourself overcome with joy.   
  
“Hey, boy.” You say, cautiously lowering your hand -- the bionic one, as if to prove a point -- to his head, petting him affectionately, fingers scratching behind his ears. You feel such a wave of attachment toward this animal that had opted to greet you so lovingly. You hadn’t realized, just how much you had missed your dog. You would not call the look on your face a smile, but rather that of blubbering delight. And before you can make sense of what’s transpiring between you and Boney, you’re flat on the ground, this dog standing between your spread legs, practically climbing on top of you. As if you were someone he had not seen in a very long time.

And you begin to laugh as Boney’s wet tongue slathers your face, metal and all, and you have to shut your eyes to avoid any unpleasantness getting in them. And you tumble back on to the ground landing in the soft grass and let Boney win. You let him bark and breathe his smelly dog breath and drool all over you. You let him roll on to his back and you make the best effort to rub his belly and reassure him that it was you. You had a dog completely smitten with you.

Yet, amidst this all, the boys had dropped their weapons of protection. Perhaps stunned at what they were witnessing. Perhaps they had concluded that if Boney liked you, they would like you too. And suddenly you no longer had a dog on top of you but you were certainly laying on the ground, arms spread wide with two young boys looking at you. They exchange glances at one another before the look down.

“Hi boys.” you say with a smile, wiping some of the dog dibble from your cheek. “I’m your Uncle Clay.” You sit up and Boney quickly settles between your legs again, sitting with his head tilted back, tongue flopping outside of his mouth, tail still thumping against the ground.

“I’m Claus.”

“My name’s Lucas.”

“I know,” you say, patting Boney’s sides as you catch your breath, feeling what you can only describe as cool heat. It was this bubbling feeling, like when anxiety builds within the pit of your stomach. However, in this case, it was hardly anxiety. It was the sensation of joy. It felt like ripples of water coursing over your chest and caused your heart to thrum like the plucked string of an instrument. You want to cry. But you cannot cry. But to see these boys standing before you, their eyes tired and their faces so weary and saddened. You can only call this absolute adoration. Absolute love. Even if one of those boys would one day become you. You know what you are feeling is genuine, heartfelt love. 

“And I’ve been waiting so long to meet you,” you say as the boys look at one another in response. “And I promise,” Boney seems to take the hint and slips away from your lap to stand closer to Alec so that you can crouch before the boys instead. “ _ I will never, ever let harm come to either of you _ .”

You wait. Some sort of response.   
  
And it does not take long before you feel the presence of two small bodies pressed against you, their arms clinging to you. And you let your arms close around them. You do not have words to say in this moment, but being there, is what you think they need. And you hear them both as they begin to wail; small faces of children pressed against your sides leaving wet face prints as they let it out, each one crying tears of sorrow that you can only imagine have been plaguing them. You cannot say for certain what it feels like to be a child who has lost not one, both both parents.   
  
You cannot say for certain that you remember losing your mother. But you can say for certain that you’re quite sure that the embrace of family was exactly what you needed back then.   
  
And maybe, this was all you needed to do to make sure things would end right.   
  
  
**_END PROLOGUE**   



	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Sorry for the delay in this chapter. May and June were VERY busy months for me so I was only able to write a little bit. But I now have 3 segments completed and here we are on to the next chapter!

Your name is Neil Alleweitz.

You are thirty-two years old, and you are very,  _very_  obsessed with engineering and cybernetics. It’s been your passion for as long as you can remember. You remember designing programs and processes for combining human life with cybernetic enhancements when you were only fifteen. You were a prodigy. And somewhere down the line, you made a couple of moral fuck-ups, and you were no longer a prodigy.

  
But you were still employed. And for one of the the most powerful groups in all of existence. Not that it mattered anymore. You had made a pretty big scene with a small group of fellow rebels and you were quite sure that you were about to have to run for your life.

You watch as a star comes crashing down on the soldier that had you restrained, freeing you from his grasp. You reactivate the barrels of your fingers and fire a few shots at the soldiers restraining your allies – the Andonauts family. You were not the best shot, but you could hit someone well enough that you could distract them. You are able to free Jeff Andonauts, who acts in such a surprisingly composed manner. He drives a clearly practiced kick backwards into the jaw of one of the soldiers, commenting as he sees you staring at him, “I, uh, have my friend Poo to thank for learning that one.” he says as he loosens the grip of one of the soldiers from around his partner’s waist.

“Jeffrey,  _sweetie_ ,” you hear Hailey Andonauts grunt as she frees her wrist from a soldier, having escaped all on her own, as a soldier bounces back from her, hopping on one foot as it slinks away pitifully. “Help out your father please.”

Your name is Neil Alleweitz, and you realize as you watch this family struggle to free themselves, that you need to act quickly.

“Release them!” You call loudly, putting yourself between the Andonauts family and the dispatched soldiers. You had been preparing for this for quite some time. You offer a nearly sarcastic salute and then cross one arm across your stomach and fold the other one behind your back as you bow with a flourish.

The King calls for the troops to cease, “Ahahahaha, I should have known!” the speakers on his mechanical throne blare.

You offer a smirk before you stand upright.

“Greetings, _your highness._ ” you say. “It took you long enough to realize that with my return to your service, I would bring something of a resistance movement along with me. I’d like to negotiate.”

* * *

Your first few hours in Tazmily are somewhat strained. Not necessarily in a negative way, but in a way where you are finding that it’s becoming increasingly more and more difficult to explain who you are and where you came from. Now outside the house, the boys are quickly working on the ranch, spreading out feed for their sheep and watering the gardens their mother had tended to. You don’t know where to start so you let the boys take the reigns.

“I’m not too sure what I need to be doing, boys,” you say as you notice even Alec corralling the sheep together to head to the grazing field closer to the house. “I’ve never worked on a farm – I mean,” you stop, catching Alec’s eye. You and he established that as children you and Hinawa worked together on one. “It’s been a long time. I haven’t worked on one since I was a child.”

With a bale of hay in his arms, Lucas looks up at you. “It’ll come to you. When I broke my arm I couldn’t help out for a long time, and when I started doing stuff again, Mom said it would come back to me in time.” He turns from you and tosses the bale of hay into a trough for the sheep to pull from in addition to their grazing.

For being in grief, the boys really seemed to have a handle on things. Alec looks at you, and you study his face. As if he knows what’s on your mind, he puts a hand upon your shoulder. “They have animals to take care of, they know they can’t just wallow. But with you here, and with my help on the ranch, we can lift that burden from them and allow them the time they need.”

“How about you?” you ask Alec, considering that the boys not only had lost their parents, but Alec had lost a daughter.

“I won’t lie and say that I’m not hurting, Claus.” he says softly so the boys do not hear your name being uttered. “No one should have to outlive their child. It’s a grief no parent should ever have to bear. I have lost my wife and my daughter, but my grandchildren are here and they’re safe and you and I can be sure that nothing ill will come to them.”

You smile a little, and before you can respond. You find yourself enveloped in Alec’s arms. A hug of a grandfather who clearly has a heart full of pain that you can only imagine. Truly. Your own grief has only come in waves so far, and you cannot grasp the severity of the hurt. But you can grasp that this is your family. You allow your arms to close around him as well. You’re taller than him, but height runs in your genes thanks to your father. You accept this familial embrace.  
  
It’s been far, far too long.

Alec only stays with you for a week or so. You make daily trips into town with the boys after each morning of tending to the animals. Your system wakes you up at five in the morning each day, having reset itself manually due to your own tinkering. You give the boys an extra half an hour and use what minimal cooking skills you know to make them breakfast. If you’re finished cooking before they get up, you let Boney outside and take to watering Hinawa’s garden before the sun comes up. The boys are up and ready to help outside by six. You still had not quite adapted to all the ins and outs to caring for sheep, so you let them take the reigns. In time, you’ll learn how to tend to them by yourself. You insist that once you have the hang of it, the boys are allowed to get comfortable sleeping in more if they want to. But by your second and third week tending to the sheep on your own, the boys are already back at your side, insisting that they enjoy the work. You don’t want to stop them. They seem to be most comfortable working early in the morning and helping you out.

You realize very early on it’s because they want to have more time to spend with you.

Each day, after the sheep are cared for, after the plants are tended to, after the handful of chickens in the coop are inspected and eggs collected, you head into town with the boys. Each of them takes your hand, often arguing over who gets to hold your robotic one. What used to cause fear within them quickly became something of utter fascination.

At first, you asked the boys if they wanted to come with you into town after the morning work was done – no later than nine most days – and in the beginning they would often say no. They didn’t want to leave the house. Didn’t want to interact with others. It was hard for them to do, so you made a point of not pushing them. You did, however, bring Boney with you whenever you could. He was a good conversation piece, other than your cybernetics of course.

The people of Tazmily were still suspicious of you. You didn’t blame them, but you had concluded that each and every day you would try to introduce yourself properly to. It takes time. Some of the people want nothing to do with you, mostly the older citizens. One thing you had not been prepared for was having to explain why you had the enhancements in the first place. You ultimately settled on an accident. Sometime shortly after you moved away, you were in an accident at your job in the city and the only way to save you was to replace some of your parts with machines. It wasn’t exactly a lie. That’s what caused you to have them in the first place, after all.

It was the other children of the town that had caught your eye, however. Regardless of what their parents said, you often found them watching you at a distance, fascinated. You would often look up, wave and smile. Sometimes the children would wave back, other times they would look away or run off. But they always seemed to be fascinated by you. All of you.

It started with a boy named Nichol.

After a few visits into town with only Boney, the young boy – gingery brown hair, thick, round blue glasses, wide eyes and dressed rather nicely for such a young child in a boys blazer and dress shorts – had come up to you and instantly took your arm and began to examine your fingers.

“Do you feel that?” he asked as you were taken by surprise at the boys sudden actions. “Can your roboty parts feel anything?” You felt him bend a finger back a little unpleasantly and you wince, jerking your arm slightly.

“Sure can,” you say with a grimace as you crouched down next to the boy to give him a better look as you extend your arm to him. You suppose there’s no harm in letting him study you. Not like he understood.

“But it’s metal. And it’s not your arm. How can you feel?” He asks, spreading your fingers apart before forcing your hand to make a fist.

“There’s some really complicated science behind it.” you explain. “But I can feel it and move it like a regular arm.” You find yourself sitting on the stone ground of the town plaza as you let the boy study you. He looks to be a bit older than Lucas and Claus, maybe a year, you suspect, but he was still a child nevertheless. “See,” You extend your arm, your palm stretched out wide. “It’s metal but I can move it just the same as you can. And if something hot touches it, I can tell. Or if I pick up snow, I can feel that it’s cold.”

“But it’s robotic.” the boy says. “What if it gets wet? It’s electric, isn’t it? Won’t it stop working? Or will you get hurt from it?” He begins to prod at the center of your hand, tracing the inside of your palm in such a way you hold back the slightest of laughs; it’s tickling you.

“Well, I can get it wet. But it’s best if I don’t get it wet unless I have to. I can take a shower or wash dishes with it, but if I want to go swimming or take a bath, I should take it off.” Nichol returns to flexing your fingers again before he stares up, studying you from behind his fingerprint smudged glasses (you suspect the smudges are driving him crazy).

“How does it come off? Can you take it off whenever you want?”

“Your glasses are dirty, can I clean them while I show you?”

Nichol stops and removes his glasses, his face steadily growing pink as he starts cleaning them himself. “It’s okay. But I would like to see how it comes off.”

You smile then and you wait until he can see again before you press your left index finger and thumb on the inside and the outside of your forearm. You press down on small locks that remain only activated by your heat signature, and there’s a soft chiming to indicate that your arm had been shut off. There’s a small mist of cool air as you feel the mechanisms locking your arm in place come loose.  
  
Your arm is held on at the elbow with a neurologically linked input. It suctions on to the stump of your right arm through some sort of concept you never quite understood (Neil had attempted to tell you before, but it never quite made sense). You could remove the input attachment too, but it was more troublesome to reattach. This part was meant to get wet and could handle more extreme conditions. The inside of the input had a various slots that the arm itself would lock into, and through the neurological transmitters surgically placed in you, you were able to use the rest of the limb flawlessly. With the arm now removed you held it out for Nichol to examine.  
  
You supposed that this kid had fascination with your arm that was genuine enough that you couldn’t get too worried by letting him hold it.  
  
However, Nichol nearly stumbles as he takes the arm into his hands and quickly gives it back to you.

“That’s heavy, how do you do it?” he asks.

“Well, it’s my arm. Guess I’m just used to it.” But then as Nichol watches you reattach your arm, his face lights up and you can only assume he just wanted to see you take it off and put it back on.

“That’s so cool!” he says cheerfully. “I’m going to take my sister to come see you tomorrow, okay?! I think she’d think you’re really cool too!”

You realized then that while the adults of the town were wary of you, being the outsider that you were, you were an object of fascination for the children of the town. They wanted to know about you. How you functioned. How you got along with their friends, Lucas and Claus. How good you were at ranch work (the answer: not very good). What’s the city like? Did you like Tazmily? Do you have any friends? A wife? Husband?

It was around the time the twins started accompanying you into town that you found yourself akin to a living magnet. Each child in Tazmily had flocked to you. You’d come to know and understand each of them. Not just the young children but some of the older ones as well. It started with Nichol. He didn’t talk much around the other kids. Kept his questions and curiosity to when the others weren’t around. But his sister Richie was nosy. She liked to ask you all the questions about your personal life, especially your romantic life. She was pretty disappointed when you explained you were not married. But then bat her eyelashes a few times and asked if you would wait until she grew up. You laughed at her jokes, but suggested there were better options closer to her age. Then it was a girl named Angie from the bakery. She was a little more aggressive about getting to know you as she wanted to be sure you weren’t some kind of monster, but she didn’t seem to harbor any ill will as she was constantly coming out with fresh bread and water for you during your walks with the twins. Then it was a small, dainty girl named Alle. She wasn’t so much nosy as she was just curious, her small hands gripping your pant leg as she listened to you talk to the other children. Even the older children, Nana, Biff and Butch – even the three of them found you astonishing.  
  
But there was only one child you had yet to truly impress.  
  
Fuel.

It struck you as being almost comical. You had known, and recalled that you and Fuel had been particularly close to one another as kids. If you recalled, you were cousins, his father Lighter being your father’s brother. But your memory of this was hazy at best. Lighter had grown to approach you as he took note of the children rushing to see you whenever you head into town each morning. He saw no fault in you, and made it clear that seeing someone so good with the children of the town was a breath of fresh air, even for a town on the edge of the sea. Air doesn’t get much fresher than that.

You’d become quite popular with the kids, fascinating them all with your machinery and your almost inherently childish nature. It wasn’t that you were immature, but you were still in a constant process of unlearning things you had been conditioned to know, and were regressing back into a more simplistic way of thinking. The humor and company of children put you at ease and the more the kids came to see you each morning, the more the residents began to warm up to you as well. Light had been the first, and soon after the parents of the other children – Lisa and Thomas, Ed and Nan and Caroline – had started to warm up to you as well. It was as if everyone was starting to appreciate you.

Everyone but Fuel.

It was not that he was cold, or nasty, or even outright impolite. He simply kept his distance. You didn’t want to ask his father why that might be the case, but you supposed in time you would discover his reasoning. When the twins came to town with you from time to time, even then Fuel would steer clear, often just trying to lure the boys away from you long enough. You had considered asking Claus or Lucas why it was that Fuel seemed to harbor such distance to you. But it wasn’t your position to pry into their business. They were children and they were grieving still, no matter what their smiles said when they were by your side. Maybe eventually, Fuel would be by your side too.

* * *

You had been in Tazmily for a little over a month.

The overall response toward you in the town was still not the kindest. But the children and their families had grown to like you and you supposed this would do for now. There had been not a single complaint about how you were caring for the twins, and you decided that was all you could hope for. They could dislike you, but as long as they did not dislike how you raised the boys, then that was all that mattered.

But you couldn’t shake it.

“Alright, alright, settle down –” You find yourself scooping up Claus as he tries to make a run for the door, tucking him casually under your arm before you plop him in the bed next to his brother. “You got an extra thirty minutes outta me, but that’s it!” Claus lands on the mattress with a soft ‘oomph’ noise before Boney leaps on the bed, forcing him to accept his defeat. “Just because I have robotic parts that wake me up automatically, doesn’t mean you do.”

“Maybe one day!” Claus announces cheerfully, flashing a toothy grin as he squirms his way under the blanket, trying not to disturb Boney.

“Don’t you joke about that,” you say as you start tucking him in. Lucas, laying next co Claus, has already gotten himself comfortable elbows his twin a bit to get Claus to quit his horsing around. “As cool as it is to you, it’s not as cool to me.”

“But, Uncle Clay, you don’t look upset about it,” Claus explains as Boney finally gets fed up with his attempts at getting cozy, and stands and moves elsewhere on the bed.

“Well, I’m not. But I would still rather be all flesh and blood.” You say, stepping away to get two glasses of water for the boys – Lucas had a notorious streak of waking up and trying to get a drink of water, only to cause a lot of excess noise, alerting your system with an abrupt  _“Intruder Detected”_  message.

“You never said what happened in your accident.” Lucas says, leaning up a little, Claus slumping over him to take one of the glasses of water to take a long sip. “Can you? I mean, do you want to?”

“It’s nothing exciting,” you say, sticking to the story you had told everyone so far. “I was working in the city. I fell off a building. My arm got mangled up in the landing and I injured my skull.” You take the glass back from Claus and set them both on the nightstand, and wiggle your robotic fingers. “And as I got older, my line of work got dangerous, so I have self defense things in here too.”

“I wanna see!” Claus declares loudly, and Lucas immediately gets involved.

“Yeah! Show us!” Lucas jumps in, leaving you with a cacophony of “Show us! Show us! Show us!” from two very tired children who were not in a position to see your arm morph into a firearm.

“Not tonight.” You say as you quickly wrangle the two boys back into their lying down positions. “You should hope you never have to see those parts, okay? If I use them, that’s a sign something bad is happening. If I can’t fight something with just my hands and grappling, then it’s too dangerous and that means something is wrong.”

“Uncle Clay?” Lucas then asks as he gets himself snuggled into the blankets again as you sit on your bed across from them. He studies you with eyes of worry, concern – perhaps fear. He was a child who had lost his parents, and the idea of a new guardian being in danger was perhaps terrifying to him.

“Yeah?” you answer, twisting your wrist to resecure it after feeling it move a bit uncomfortably from calming them again.

“Have you ever had to use those parts?”

How do you answer that? How do you tell a child, “Yes, I’ve used the cybernetic enhancements in my arms to hurt, injure and possibly kill people before all in the name of a militaristic, alternate dimensional empire’s desires.” How do you tell a child who has experienced the death of his parents that you’re just as dangerous as the people who were in the woods the night his parents died.

You took a breath and stood up, combing your fingers through Lucas’s hair, offering a soft smile. “Only to protect myself and people I care about.”

Oh and how you lied through your teeth. Sometimes you have to lie to protect the ones you love. And Lucas was no different.

You wait around inside until the twins fall asleep and as soon as they do, Boney hops off the bed and saunters over to you, and you and he head out to the porch. Tazmily this time of year is warm. Soothing. You sit on a wooden bench and Boney circles your feet a few times before settling down on the ground with a grunt. You smiles and lean down and stroke the dogs head a few times before you quickly withdraw your hand, feeling what almost feels like an electric current running down your spine.

_“Holy shit, Claus. Fucking PICK UP THE PHONE!”_

And you find yourself staring out at the the ocean, searching for the source of the sound before it clicks – that was in your head. And aloud, you find yourself asking:

“What? Kumatora?”

_“Oh my god, FINALLY. It’s about damn time!”_

You take a moment to find yourself again. You take a moment to recall that she could speak to you telepathically. But as far as you’re concerned, there is absolutely no reason why she should be able to reach you now. You’re absolutely worlds away from her and you’re quite sure she should not be able to reach you.

“Kumatora? What’s going on?” You ask aloud, catching Boney’s attention as he sits himself upright, nudging against your knee for more pats to the head. “How can you reach me all the way out here?”

_“Working on figuring that out right now big guy, but we got more important shit to talk about. I bought you time, but you gotta keep your eyes open. King Fatass is coming – he has control of my gateway. You aren’t safe.”_

* * *

 

Your name is Fuel. Well, it’s not but that’s what everyone’s called you for as long as you can remember. On paperwork, your name is Aiden, but shh. No one’s asking. Everyone just calls you Fuel, and  _shit_ you weren’t going to be going by that other name again any time soon. And you’ve been summoned by your Porkiness for a hearing in his throne room. You’ve never been in here, and you can see why as soon as you walk into the chilly, dark, ambient room. You are definitely not dressed nice enough for this sort of exchange. **  
**

And hoooo boy, you are pretty sure you are in a fuck ton of trouble.

You swear, you didn’t deliberately tell Claus that he was Claus. He sort of figured it out himself! You just spent your time confirming what he already knew and there wasn’t any sort of rule against that, now was there?  
  
You listen quietly and there’s a faint wheezing sound coming from the far end of the room, the King has been returned to his throne and has had his oxygen turned back on to keep him going. You heard that there had been some sort of commotion regarding Claus, and it was only obvious to you that he’d made a break for it. And you were probably about to be executed or something.

  
Cool. You’ll give a status update later. If you’re not dead first.

* * *

 

You had been in Tazmily for about three months at this point and at this point, you had concluded you were probably going to be as welcome as you possibly could be by the adults of the town. They were still distrusting of you, which, you had accepted was a reality that was not changing anytime soon. The children however were always by your side. Lucas and Claus were not the only ones who had grown to call you Uncle Clay, but the other children did too. You were all of their uncle for what it was worth and you were more than happy to regard them as your own family.

You had accepted that the residents of Tazmily could trust you in public. When you were with the children. As long as someone had an eye on you, whether it be a parent or another child, they were fine. But once the sun hung low in the sky and the residents began to return home for the night, they began to stare at you with suspicions and disdain. You would not lie and say that it did not hurt. You were here to make a new life. To make the lives of these boys better. And they did not seem to think you were worthy of this.

You had not heard from Kumatora since she had connected with you that one night. But she had given you substantial warning. King Porky had taken control of the rift she had created with the aid of the Andonauts family. But you had yet to notice any indication that they had succeeded in coming to this world. You had told her you’d play it by ear. If she had been thinking correctly, the army would be seizing control of Tazmily within the next couple weeks. You’d picked up in town that their influence had been seen prior to your arrival and well…It was starting to make sense.

The people of Tazmily did not trust you, because they did not trust the other outsiders either.

It wasn’t something you were going to get far too involved in thinking about. Your first priority was protecting Claus and Lucas and the town as a whole. Your reputation could wait. That could always take a backseat while you were working on establishing well, everything else.

It had been when your four month mark was closing in that it clicked. You had noticed just what it was that had the people of Tazmily wary of you. On your morning arrival into town with the twins, this morning with Lucas holding your robotic hand, you had spotted a crowd within the main square of the village and your ears connected to a voice that you could only react to in the way a victim might react to the sound of a former assailant. You felt your hand squeeze around Lucas’s and the boy released a soft ‘Ouch!’ in response, causing you to release him.

“Sorry Lucas,” you say as you crouched down to examine his hand, checking it over for any sort of red marks that may have come in response. “Got surprised, forgot you were holding on.”

“It’s’okay.” Lucas replies as he holds his hand up to show he’s injury free. “Did something scare you?”

“Uncle Clay’s not scared of anything, that’s such a stupid question!” Claus interjects from the other side of you. He hmphs softly and adds on, “Why’d you ask something like that anyways?!”

‘Well, ‘cause you squeeze my hand hard when something scares you!” Lucas retaliates and you know almost instinctively that this could lead to a fight so you offer your hand again for Lucas and put your other one on Claus’s shoulder to settle them both.

“I’m fine boys, let’s keep walking, okay? We need to get some more grain for the sheep today, remember?”

“Can we go see what’s in the square while you get it?” Claus asks instead as he points to the cluster of villagers around the town fountain. You pick up on the words being spoken to the crowd and you hear a phrase that makes your skin crawl, “ _Don’t you want to be happy?_ ” You shudder and look at the boys for a moment, stopping in your tracks.

“I don’t want to be a buzz kill,” you say. “But I’d rather not. I don’t think I like what I’m hearing over there. Sounds like a big scam to me.”

“Aww, but Uncle Clay, look he’s got a monkey!” Lucas tugs your hand a bit and pulls you toward the gathering, and you have to resist the urge to yank back too far. You don’t want to get closer because you’re quite sure if you do get any nearer to the assembly, you would be experiencing quite the altercation with the speaker in question.

“Yeah! He’s got something that says it can make people happy or something! He was here before, I think, but Grampa Alec was watching us, so we couldn’t see what he had. Maybe he’s putting on a show or something!”

“Boys, boys –” you try to stop them, raising your voice a little bit as the twins proceed to tug your closer. “I don’t have a good feeling about this, and I could really use your help –”

“You there, sir!” you hear the voice of the speaker grow louder and you find yourself with dozens of eyes upon you from the crowd, the twins and the speaker himself. He’s a portly man, head covered in a sunguard and a long, insidious mustache, dressed in white garb to keep him cool and shield him from the suns rays. To his side a rather dismal looking monkey performing little gestures and actions – Salsa, you remember him. He had been one of the labs experiments. “You seem like a father of some rather rowdy boys, eh?” The twins laugh and you look around and play dumb, pointing at yourself as if wondering if you were the one being singled out. The crowd parts and the man comes near you, Salsa standing in his place at the front of the fountain performing a slight little dance. The poor creature; you’d love to liberate him. You know some of the hand signals he was taught to keep him subservient and you wonder if you could signal for him to come over to you and escape. But if you knew the man in question…you would only be putting Salsa in danger. You make eye contact with the creature. And you hope that he understands your empathy.

Your attention is turned from Salsa to the man before you, noting that you had to address his inquiry. “Oh, I’m not their –” you begin to interject and you know. You  _know_ that you’re going to have to hold your tongue. This is Fassad. The man who had spent the past twenty years aiding in conditioning and brainwashing you to respond to certain stimuli. This is the man who was responsible for a good ninety percent of your misery. This man was no man, but a monster in human flesh. And in turn, wasn’t even human to begin with.

“It must be so challenging caring for two boys and working on a ranch all by yourself! No mother to watch them while you do all the work!” he announces as he steps through the crowd. Some of the residents begin nodding and adding words of affirmation. The idea that a mother was required to raise children caused some irritance in you, but that would be put aside and included as part of your overall dislike of the man. You also wouldn’t address how he guessed your profession correctly, but you assume by this point you must look the part, metal plate in your face excluded. You were constantly wearing your fathers old flannel shirts, sleeves rolled up past the elbow, with hands caked in dirt and filth from working the land. You often wore work pants (you had a fondness for greys, blacks and browns since they didn’t seem to look as bad when they got dirty), and during the early part of the day you wore your father’s hat to shield your face from the sun. It was much less a concern about appearance, but more a concern about burning your skin. And with the metal affixed to your jaw, the sun would cause its temperature to grow hot and it often could burn. You didn’t want to risk the metal becoming too hot and one of the boys desperately wanting to hug you and getting his face or neck burnt by your own metal enhancements.

“And with such an injury to your head, I’m sure you could use some help in keeping your boys happy and entertained!” He gestures broadly and the crowd begins to nod and agree with him. You aren’t too keen on having your enhancements singled out. You were alien and stranger enough to the people of Tazmily and having these features made part of a selling point to you (it was not working) was enough to make your skin crawl. “Have you considered a Happy Box to keep your boys engaged while you do your work so they don’t get in your way? Without a mother around, they must be so wild and misbehaved! This way you can relax and not have to worry about the stresses and pains of  _parenting_?”

“I’m good, thanks.” you say quickly, and much to your relief, the boys stay quiet. You can tell that each of them are not reacting well to the implications of a mother being lacking in their lives. Lucas’s gaze fell to study the impressive brick work beneath his shoes and Claus had squeezed your hand viciously (proving Lucas’s point correct when something upset Claus) and had turned his focus to the nondescript features of the onlookers of the crowd. Both boys were growing angry, and you were not going to have it. “And I’d appreciate you not bringing their mother into this. Anyone in this town knows these boys have been through enough and you  _are not helping_.”

“You’re good?” he asks you again. “You don’t want something to ease the burdens of caring for two children while maintaining a farm as big as, that one in the distance? You don’t think the boys need a distraction from what ails them? Surely one of my Happy Boxes can provide all the escapism and reassurance that you and these children need. You don’t need the escape from the pressure and strains of daily life? Or to get away from the memories of your injury? Or to forget the pain of losing a mother –”

“ _I said I’m good_.” you react again feeling the clench of Claus’s fist grow tighter. You take note of the glares and glowers of the crowd. “Me and my  _nephews_  are quite happy on the ranch without one. We don’t need any sort of fancy device to make us happy. We’re happy together. If we want an electric box to make us happy, we can get a television with basic cable.” Lucas looks up finally, his eyes prickled with the sparkle of tears. A few onlookers begin to stifle laughs at the child but you find yourself staring them down to silence them. A few housewives who had laughed caught your eye and cover their mouths and glance away, taking the hint.

“Well, what about you boys – do you want a Happy Box? Might take your mind off your grief! Maybe you can convince your father here! I’m sure it would make your days muuuch less boring!”

“My  _uncle_  said no!” Claus snaps, his voice loud and crackling almost like thunder. “And I don’t want one either, not if this is how you wanna sell it!”

“Yeah!” Lucas adds, a few of the tears falling free, his voice much lighter but still filled with a similar level of anger. “We thought this was going to be a show, not a  _grown man_ picking on kids!”

“We’re  _eleven_ , mister!” Claus jumps in as you watch both the boys step in front of you, seeming to want to engage the man a bit further.

“And yeah! Our mom died!” Lucas joins in, pointing at the man with an accusatory finger, his faint anger still apparent through the red eyes and falling tears – he was an angry crier, you remembered this now. A few more people laughed and found something funny about the boys standing up for themselves.

“And only a  _real jackass_  would try to exploit our mom against us!”

“Claus, language.” you interrupt, but let the boys have their moment.

“ _Jerkass_.” He corrects, and you don’t have the desire to reprimand him further.

“We thought this was going to be something cool!” Lucas adds, groaning as he seems to stave off the continued tears. “Like a treasure chest of coils and jewels and stuff!”

“And swords!” Claus jumps in.

“And skeletons!” Lucas laughs, the situation growing diffused by the second as the twins take a moment to fantasize about what could have been. They both look back at you after a moment and then, laugh with one another as they run off with one another, giving you an out to leave the situation as well.

“You heard ‘em.” You say as you start to turn from the crowd. “We’re not interested.”

It’s as you start to walk away to chase after the boys that a few residents begin to follow you. And from the way you hear them walking (and from your internal systems reacting with alarm) you can tell that you’re about to experience what you like to call a “bad situation.” It’s as you draw away and are out of sight of the crowd, you turn to address the few people behind you. It’s a few nameless faces, but the most obvious person was Thomas. You sigh heavily and you face the crowd, trying to keep your features as soft and unthreatening as possible.

“You know Clay,” Thomas says with an air of false hospitality. “We’ve been awfully patient with you here in Tazmily, but you can’t be acting the way you did just now.” There’s a few nods from the people following him. “We have a reputation among the people of this village and the surrounding areas of being kind and supportive and neighborly. And what you did was far from neighborly.”

“You know,” you find yourself saying quickly, feeling a knot of frustration building in your gut already. “I agree with you. This town is neighborly and kind. But I don’t trust a man who will mock children for their grief.” If you were to share your actual frustration with Fassad, you would be run out of town. But your feelings still remained, although they were for very different reasons.

“Mister Fassad has become a welcome visitor in our community, Clay.” Thomas continues. “Many of our families have Happy Boxes and we find ourselves truly benefitting from them. Mister Fassad has become almost like one of our own. He doesn’t mean to dismiss the boys’ grief but –”

“ _But he did_.” You interrupt, knowing that this would later bite you in the ass. “He spoke to me as if caring for those boys is a struggle for me, and that the boys are misbehaved since Hinawa died, and sure, Claus might be acting out a bit, but if anything, they’re on their behavior more often than not, and I can’t quite let a man who is going to insinuate that there is something wrong with my nephews, get away with that!”

The crowd begins to murmur angrily at you and you can already feel your reputation in the town sink again. You sigh and shake your head as Thomas begins to coach you again: “Clay, no one in this town is saying that, but you made an enemy of one of our honorary townsfolk, and we can’t be having you causing these sort of disruptions.”

“You’re willing to accept a con artist and a bull as a neighbor but not me?” you feel your anger welling up thickly in your throat as someone within the crowd says something unpleasant about you being inhuman. For all Tazmily prided itself on being, it was not a cozy, homely town. It was not welcoming. It was distrustful of those who were different.

“Your appearance in this town coincided with the disappearance of Duster, and the deaths of Flint and Hinawa. You brought nothing but mystery with you. How do you expect us to trust you? Had it not been for Alec, we wouldn’t have let you watch those boys, in fact we’d rather you packed up and left our town, but none of us can take Lucas and Claus in.”

“And he didn’t?” you ask, still referring to Fassad. You stop and then decide it’s no longer worth the effort. You notice the boys off in the distance playing with Richie and Nichol. “You know what,” you continue. “Fine. You do not have to trust me. That’s fine. I think your trust is misplaced. And I don’t want to discuss this further. I care about these boys, and I care about this town.” You stop and start to walk away. “Even if the town does not care about me. I can live with that.”

* * *

 

The boys see later that night that you’re upset. They seem to understand that you were seriously bothered today. They sit with you on the bench on the porch with Boney as the four of you silently watch the ocean’s waves sparkle in the moonlight. You’ve all brought your dinner outside and you don’t mind so much. It’s dark and you can hardly see your plate but the warm light of the porch lamps and the sky overhead makes for a welcoming, comforting experience.

“What did Mr. Thomas want from you?” Lucas asked between bites of some kind of root vegetable you’d boiled and salted as the starch for tonights meal. “You looked really upset while he was talking to you.”

“Huh, you saw that?” you comment as you nudge some of the cut up chicken on your plate, deciding you aren’t very hungry. Your system wasn’t allowing for you to eat much more.

“Looked like an angry mob, Uncle Clay.” Claus comments, sort of grinning at the absurdity of the idea, but you feel your gaze fall as you feed Boney a bit of the food from your dish. Your expression, you suppose, says it all and Claus looks up at you from his spot next to you on the bench and looks, perhaps angry was the correct word. “No way, were they?! That was an angry mob?!”

“…They were about to be.” You admit to the boys softly as you hear Lucas raise his voice for once.

“Why the hell are they angry at you?!”

“Language, Lucas.”

“Sorry,” he mutters softly before continuing with his frustration. “Uncle Clay, what do they have to be angry at you for?! You’re the coolest! You’re like, the best thing to happen since everything went wrong!”

“Yeah!” Claus declared as well. “You’re more…You’re more …You’re more COOLER than everyone in town! Except for like Fuel. He’s super cool.”

You offer the boys the most reassuring of a smile as you can muster but you stare at the sky. You wonder if this is what anxiety feels like. “Thanks boys.” You say. “I just don’t think anyone in this town is ever going to trust me, but well,” You laugh. It’s bitter and somewhat forced. But it’s a laugh. “I guess as long as you boys like me and you two are as happy and healthy as possible.”

“Uncle Clay, that’s  _really_ sappy.” Lucas snorts between bites, giggling to himself.

“Uncle Clay’s a sap!” Claus laughs, kicking his legs back and forth a bit as he throws his weight against the back of the bench.

“Well maybe I am a sap!” You announce rather proudly. “But I’m the coolest sap you’ve ever met! I’ll be so sappy your teeth are going to rot out.”

“Ew that’s gross!” Lucas declared. “I don’t want my teeth to fall out!”

“But then you’ll always get to eat ice cream, lucky!”

“You’re just jealous ‘cause I  _can_  eat ice cream without getting sick!”

“Stop oppressing me, Lucas! I hope one day you end up allergic to something you like too!”

As the boys begin to playfully yell at one another, their voices growing louder and louder, Boney rose to his feet, tail wagging happily, barking a few times to join in on the noise created among the family. You supposed this was how family should feel as you spent the next few moments watching these boys you called nephews argue and play fight with one another. Sure, Fassad was right. They were rowdy. But they weren’t impossible or inconsolable. They were boys. Young boys who liked to have fun with one another and god, you were grateful to no end that they got along. And in that moment, watching those boys, and hearing their laughter.  
  
This, for you, was how your family began.

And though your heart began to ache, yearning for your own twin – one who would never exist in your life – you accepted that this life. This family. It was worth fighting for.  
  
And if Porky’s army was truly coming for you? You would make damn sure that this family did not suffer. Not now, not ever. You would not let them suffer like you did.

* * *

 

_And neither would you._

_This Tazmily was unfamiliar to you. But that’s okay. You came from a Tazmily of sorrow. But this was a Tazmily of Distrust. A Tazmily that had been scorned. Your Tazmily had the tragedy of the lost of a parent and a child. This Tazmily lost parents and left the children of the family to struggle on their own. This was a Tazmily that could not and would not provide for those in need._

_You pull the scarf hanging loose around your neck up over your mouth and you climb down from the bell tower. Leder looks down at you and offers you a nod. You offer him a knowing smile._

_Claus had a job to do. He had to watch those boys._  
  
_In the meantime, you would keep him, the twins and the rest of Tazmily safe. The Pigmasks were here. And they were much worse than the ones from your world. Very much so._

* * *

 

“ _Aren’t you lonely?_ ” you hear Kumatora’s voice ring out in your head as you sit at the cliff’s edge with Boney, some time well past midnight as Autumn came to a close. The boys were put to bed a few hours ago and you had tried to sleep yourself, but it was not coming to you. Sleep had become sometime that had started to feel more natural, but from time to time, you found yourself laying awake, mind trapped in memories of causing harm to innocents, of deaths you could have prevented, of lives you could have saved. Memories of days when you were more machine than man, and you did not have a moral code. You did not know ethics. You knew your orders and the desires of your superiors. Not your own.

“I am.” You reply as Boney rests his head upon your lap, snoozing lightly, but not so much that he would be hard to stir if you had to rise to your feet. “It’s not that I’m not accustomed to it though.” your reply is earnest, perhaps even confident. “I spent the past twenty years alone. I didn’t come to know what loneliness was before. I knew isolation and conditional interactions with others. I suppose I’ve always been lonely.”

“ _I’d say I can’t relate, but I’ve been like that for the past twenty years too. So I guess we’ve got some solidarity in not knowing the fondness of another human being. I’ll drink to that._ ”

“In fact,” you add on. “I think I’m less lonely now, than I ever was before. They might be children, but I feel like a person when I’m with them.” You scratch Boney behind the ears and his eyes crack open to look at you, pupils sparkling in the starlight from overhead. “Taught me how to laugh again.”

“ _Must be nice.”_

“Don’t try to guilt trip me, Kumatora.” you say rather firmly. “I understand you are struggling as well, but that’s no need to try and guilt me into feeling bad that I have and you have not.”

“ _What?_ ” You can hear the proverbial record scratch. “ _No, that’s not what I meant at all. I’m actually glad for you. I just,_ ” you hear her hem and haw momentarily, as if searching for what to say. “ _I just wish I could see Lucas again._ ”

“Have you considered trying to come here yourself?” you ask as Boney lifts himself up, walks in a circle and settles himself right back down.

“ _Oh yeah, I totally considered getting myself attacked by those Pig Fuckers trying to access my own interdimensional rift by coming out of hiding._ ” You can hear the teeming levels of sarcasm from beyond time and space and sigh to yourself.

“What about a totally new portal?”

“ _I don’t think I can risk something like that, what if it closes the one they have control over? It would start a manhunt for me! Not that there isn’t one already._ ” You hear her go silent for a moment. “ _I had to abandon Osohe Castle, Claus. Me and Bonnie have been bouncing between the Andonauts’ place and the other houses of Operation Hummingbird. I’ve already been caught twice, but I can’t keep escaping the way I have been. I’m not as young as I used to be. PSI is exhausting. Don’t get old, Claus –_ ”

“I am old, Kumatora.”

“ _Not in the way I’m old – it’s a state of mind as much as it is a physical thing. You should know that much, don’tcha?_ ” You can’t deny what she has to say and find yourself nodding solemnly to yourself. “ _There’s old as in, achey body and joints and geriatric. And then there’s old as in, growing older and seeing things and going through shit that no one should have to experience. Age in spirit. And I’m getting to that point where I’m getting old across the board._ ”

“I don’t think you act old,” you say as you lean back, gazing skyward, knowing that somewhere out there there was a rip in the stars and Kumatora was on the other side of it. “You’ve always been very passionate to me.”

You don’t hear her respond at first but you know you and she are still connected. You hear the soft noise of a bark from Bonnie and then her voice clicks in again. “ _Hey Claus?_ ” she asks quietly as you can tell that she’s trying to be silent now.

“Yes?”

“ _Are we friends?_ ”

You too go silent for a moment. She had horrified you when you first met. She had tapped into a side of yourself that you did not recall. She had made you understand the feeling of loathing, and anguish and you had grown spiteful toward her almost instantly. But –

“I think,” you begin. “All things considered, yes. Yes we are.”

“ _That’s good to hear. Don’t forget that. Talk soon._ ”

You hear nothing further. 

* * *

“Should we wake him up?”

“I dunno, he looks really out. Remember when Dad used to sleep in?”

“Yeah, he’d get real mad if we woke him up. So Mom would get up with us and we’d do the ranch work.”

“You think we should let him sleep and do it instead?”

“Mhmm, Uncle Clay looks really wiped out. He hasn’t had a day off since he got here.”

“You think he ever gets sick and can’t do stuff?”

“Why you ask that?”

“I’m just wonderin’ if he’s more robot than what’s on the surface. Maybe like. He can’t get sick ever?”

“That’d be cool but I don’t think he’s like that.”

“Hey you think he’ll want breakfast?”

“We can see if there’s any eggs. You think we could make him breakfast as good as Moms?”

“Mom showed me a bunch, I bet we could.”

This conversation, of course, was not something you heard. You were sound asleep and it was deep enough that nothing could rouse you. Not even the automated alarms installed throughout your system to forcibly wake you up. You had subconsciously shut everything off that would dare disturb you. Later down the line you would realize that this was one of the final steps before you could fully consider yourself human again. No cyborg, no robot or machine will deliberately ignore its alarms and functions without there being some sort of backlash. You were able to pretend that alarm clocks didn’t exist now.  
  
In all fairness, you had been up hours later than you normally were accustomed to, and had found yourself restless when you had finally concluded that it was time to sleep. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to sleep, of course, but your mind was wracked with worry for the world you came from. Why had Kumatora ended your correspondence so quickly? Was she alright? Was she scared? And she hadn’t mentioned anything about the oncoming invasion of your home army to this world. Winter was looming around the corner and you had seen hide nor hair of the Pigmask Army’s invasion. Aside for Fassad that was, but you had made strict points of avoiding him no matter what. The boys often would do so as well. When they were with the other kids, the whole group of them would avoid Fassad’s propaganda displays in the town square and often dip into the forests to play, as if their own families weren’t owners of Happy Boxes themselves. You wouldn’t fault the kids. They had no idea what the actual scheme was.

Your nose twitches slightly to the scent of something cooking. You don’t want to admit that your body is now being woken up to the sizzling of a frying pan, and the shuffling of small feet throughout the kitchen as voices of young teens whisper to one another, trying to keep quiet to avoid disturbing their sleeping guardian. You don’t get out of bed yet but you tune into the sounds of the children in the kitchen area. Behind your eyelids you see the time across the flesh – 09:48:07 A .M. Huh. You certainly did sleep in, didn’t you? Nearly five hours past your alarm. You lay still for a moment and you hear someone speak:

“ _I think Uncle Clay’s waking up._ ”

“ _Quick! Put it on the table and go outside!_ ”

You hear some quick clattering, the sound of the stovetop being shut off and the clunk of a plate followed by the clinking of silverware. And then. The thunk of the door shutting. And you take this as your cue to sit upright. Across the cottage you saw that the boys had left a small plate out for you. Its contents was a single, folded omelette with a drizzle of ketchup on top, with two pieces of toast. It was a simple, sweet gesture – the edges of the egg appeared a little burnt and meanwhile the toast looked closer to bread than it did toast. But it didn’t matter. You felt some warmth bubble in your chest as you stepped around the seat before the dish and sat down. It was a loving gesture and you couldn’t recall the last time someone had made a meal for you. Perhaps not since your childhood.

They were good kids.

You took the fork and using its side cut through the side of the egg, noting the assortment of sloppily cut vegetables the boys had put inside – peppers and tomatoes, it looked like – and scooped the bite on to the fork. When the food entered your mouth, as you took in the taste – the faint butteriness, the fluffy light savory taste mingling with the tart sweetness of the tomato and the bitter tang of the pepper – something about it made your heart stop. It stopped and felt too big for your chest, swelling with such a wondrous, cozy embrace of something. And as you chewed, swallowed and set down your fork you asked yourself: why is my face wet?

This was the moment you realized you were human again.

As the tears trickled down your face, rolling over your cheeks as you heard the voice of your mother in the back of the mind saying “ _Claus, honey, if you don’t eat, I’m not going to let you out with Lucas. Come now, it’s your favorite. No need to be stubborn with me,_ ” you felt yourself grow light.  
  
You were loved.

* * *

 

 Winter was coming to Tazmily Village and with it, came the need for something else you had not anticipated. Not only did the cottage need firewood and supplies for the winter – which thankfully the boys seemed to know an awful lot about, but you needed maintenance. With the cold weather, and being exposed to it as often as you were, you were finding that your arm sometimes lagged or became sluggish when you wore it for extended periods in the cold air. Now and then a little oil in the joints tended to ease some of the creaking, but it wasn’t quite enough. You needed the actual petroleum that Neil had used on your prosthetics, as it wasn’t quite reacting to the neurological signals you put out as easily. More often than not you were dropping things, holding too tightly, or even just flat out not responding when your arm would choose to short on you.

Your eye was also in need of some maintenance as well. Its screen was dimmer than you had been accustomed to and when you opened the panel on your face, a small notice popped up in your vision informing that its battery was low. And if that was low, that meant everything was low. Your bed at home. In your home world, it was designed to keep you charged, keep everything fresh and operational. You now know how long it took before you would need a charge. Approximately nine months. Nine months without a steady charge and maintenance before you began to break down.

And the boys had noticed. Now and then you would find them returning home from a day out with something they thought might assist you in your upkeep. Mostly tools for car repairs, borrowed from the locals. Sometimes some of the things they would bring you would stave off some of the discomfort, but it never quite did the job for more than a day or two. You had ultimately come to the conclusion that for the most part, unless you absolutely had to. You were not going to wear your arm. 

It took some getting used to at first. You took it off at night. When you bathed. When you were relaxing. Any chance you could to take it off to preserve its battery, you took advantage of. Fortunately, the boys found the appearance of your arm without its attachment to be just as fascinating. However, it wasn’t their fascination with your arm that caught your attention.  
  
It was how much they seemed to understand the technology.  
  
Of all the kids in Tazmily, Nichol had shown to be the most in tune with how your arm worked. He’d studied it as much as he possibly could before his father would call him and Richie back inside, utterly displeased to see them interacting with you. Nichol had given you notes and diagrams and sketches of everything he had learned about your arm and you could have sworn you were talking to Neil when he would go on explanations and tangents over how excited he was over the function of your arm. He was a little genius in training, as far as you were concerned. As for Claus and Lucas? They understood how your arm worked at the most basic level – they knew there was a gel that helped transmit what you wanted to do to the arm and the arm would do it. They knew it was a very advanced kind of engineering from somewhere way out elsewhere in the world. And they knew it came from the military.  
  
So when they came back with a military grade pack with a very familiar emblem on it. You were a little more than horrified.

“Where did you get this?” you asked as you sat with the boys at the kitchen table, your arm off and resting on the tables surface while you studied the bag. It wasn’t a necessarily large pack, but it wasn’t small either. About the size of a standard first aid kit. The bag itself was leather and the Pigmask Army emblem was branded into the surface. It was some sort of off-white beige color, likely dyed to match a uniform of a standard soldier. Nothing fancy. Nothing to write home about. 

“Fuel found it.” Lucas said leaning across the table to look closer at the bag. “We were playing out in the woods and we saw some guys who had made this came and they were in these uniforms.”

“Yeah! And Fuel was like ‘hey check me out I bet I can sneak up on them and steal their stuff!’ And we were like ‘Noooo, Fuel don’t stealing is wrong!’ but he snuck up on them anyways!” Claus jumped in.

“And he got up reeeeeally close to one of them and he just took this off them!” Lucas added as well. “And uh, he also took some of their snacks and stuff but we ate those.”

“Yeah not like they were using them anyways. But, okay so, like, Fuel was like, looking at them and he went ‘Hey so doesn’t your cool uncle have an arm like that guy?’ and there was this guy there, kinda fat, had _two arms_  just like you!”

“Yeah! Like, I thought it was cool that only one of your arms was robotic, but he had two! Like, I couldn’t tell if they were like, armor or actually his arms! But could you imagine having two robot arms?! I couldn’t get – I mean, Fuel didn’t get close enough to look.”

“Both arms?” you ask as you look up at the boys. “What’d he look like?”

“Well he was a little fat.” Claus said.

“You said that already,” Lucas continued. “He had dark hair. He was in a different color uniform from everyone else. Looked kinda friendly.”

“He had a bunch of medals on his chest too. Like he seemed kinda important.”

“Yeah but he was also kinda looking like he was sort of a prisoner too?”

“No way, he was their leader –”

“Boys.” you interrupt. “Boys, please.” You sigh and look at the bag, waiting to open it until they were gone. “Listen, I’m not mad if you went to that camp yourselves. I am going to tell you to never go there again. You don’t need to use Fuel as a scape goat.”

“Oh, he was really there. It was his idea.” Claus said.

“Yeah, he said that he found the camp a few days ago and he heard you in town talking to us about your arm hurting. And he told us he found a place that there were people that looked like they had the same kind of machines. He even took Nichol there to confirm it looked like the same!”

“Really?” you say, somewhat taken aback that Fuel had actually come up with this idea to help you when he had shown such aloofness and distance toward you, despite the rest of the children’s attachment, as well as his father’s. “Well, I appreciate the help…” you comment quietly as you examine the bag. “Now, I can’t guarantee that anything in here is going to help me, you know that right? This could be empty or full of bandaids and some cool rocks for all we know.” This pulled a laugh from the boys. “Could also be valuables in here also, but not necessarily something that would help me.”

However you kept having to shake off something.  
  
That person with the two robotic arms…their leader. Or prisoner. Or whatever he was.  
  
_It couldn’t be…?_

You decide, while the boys were engaged, to unbuckle the straps on the pack and open it up. You spill its contents and technically speaking – you hit a gold mine. Or at least a copper mine. There was some familiar technology. A wall charger with a cord for charging batteries like the one in your eye, a small bottle of painkillers that you knew were used for staving off phantom pain with prosthetics. There were a handful of cool looking rocks (like you had guessed) and a military identification card (Kevin Baldershot: Geologist and Cartographer) and then among it all, in a small, travel sized vial – the electrogel you recognized to be for sending neurological signals from your brain, to a prosthetic limb. It wasn’t a large vial, but it was enough that your arm would stop hurting for a bit. And those painkillers would help as well.

“I think that’s what Uncle Clay was looking for,” Claus says with a confident grin as your face lights up, lifting the vial from the table.

“Man, Fuel has the best ideas, huh?”

* * *

 

 Perhaps he did. Because that night, after you applied just enough of the petroleum to get your arm to work appropriately again there was a slight knock on your door. It was late. Not so late that you had been sound asleep, but late enough that the boys were asleep and you had just started to turn in. 

Bundled up in a heavy sweatshirt with a scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, Fuel stood on the front porch by your door, his gaze turned off toward the ocean. He was a year older than the twins, and if memory served you correctly, your father was brothers or cousins of some sort with Fuel’s father, Lighter. You were family. And in an odd sense, Fuel, as you looked down at him, was your nephew as well, wasn’t he? He stood, brushing his arms briskly in the cold. It was as if he didn’t want to be there, but at the same time, he truly seemed to want to be there at that very moment.  
  
You pushed open the door, pulling on a jacket as the bite of cold, late November air stung at your skin. You inhale slowly and watched the young boy for a moment before he jolts slightly and speaks up.

“Okay! So I know I’ve been a jerk to you since you got here but I don’t think bad about you, alright?!” Fuel speaks rather loudly for this time of night, and then grimaces faintly. “We just don’t get new people here a lot and even though my dad didn’t think bad of you, I kept hearing what everyone else was saying and I…By the time I wanted to talk to you, all the adults in town were watching me and I just –”

“Hey, hey –” You crouch down in front of him and rest your arms on your knees. “You don’t need to make excuses. You weren’t a jerk to me, I thought you were just scared of me.” You offer him a smile and a faint laugh and you see him visibly relax. He inhales and exhales quickly, and then nods his head.

“I mean, I was.” he says quietly. “But I’ve been watching how Claus and Lucas are around you, and I know I can trust you, and I saw these guys in the woods and they had technology that looked like your arm, and I heard you talking to them the other day about how the cold was making your arm break and I wanted to help so, we –”

“Snuck into the camp of those guys and stole some stuff that might help me.” You filled in the blanks and you felt a familiar sort of tingling in your gut that brought you back. You remembered how you and Fuel as kids would often get into trouble together. He closes his eyes and then nods.

“Yeah and I kind of had it staged.” Fuel the confessed quietly as you gestured to the bench of your front porch for him to take a seat. However, he shook his head and started walking. “Come with me, I can tell you on the way.”

And so, you followed Fuel as he led you away from the ranch and toward the town. He was stealthy as he walked, as if trying to avoid guiding you past any homes that might be prying eyes or snooping faces. He knew his way around the town and knew the routes to keep people from spying on you.  
  
“Me and Angie,” Fuel said as he stepped over an overturned tree as he guided you behind some houses. “We found some of those weird soldiers camping outside of town. But one day, I went to check it out by myself, and there was this guy there. And he was in this uniform. And he knew my name!”

Fuel waits for you as he starts to dart through some trees. You make a small fist and then you aim your hand forward, shining a light from your palm into the brush. He utters a soft thanks as you catch up with him. “He told me he had a job for me. And he wanted me to sneak into the camp, pretend like it was my first time going in there.” The two of you walk for a moment longer, feet crunching over the fallen leaves and branches as Fuel dips behind another tree. “He said he was planting a bag of some stuff you might need, and he wanted me to steal it for you. And then he said he wanted me to bring you here. That he wanted to talk, but he couldn’t risk going to find you himself.”  
  
And Fuel stops. In the distance you see the faint glow and flicker of a fire. There’s some faint movement and you stop with him.

“Listen, Mr. Clay. I promise I’m not leading you into some kind of trap. ‘Cause like, Lucas and Claus are my best friends. And you’ve been very good to them. They love you a lot and I want them to be happy and okay! And if something were to hurt you, or hurt them. I. I don’t know what I’d do! I’m just really glad you’re here for them! I know what it’s like to lose a mom, but to lose a dad too?! I can’t help them with that! I can only do so much as their friend and I’m really happy you’re here! And –”

“Hey–” you interrupt him and put your hands on his shoulders and he stops his little explosion and he settles and without much hesitance, Fuel immediately throws his arms around your waist and hugs you tightly. His face buries against your stomach and you find yourself wrapping your arms around him as well. You open your mouth to talk to him but you are unable to speak further.

“Thank you, Mr. Clay.” Fuel sniffles against your stomach. “You’re the best thing that could have happened to them after all this.”

It’s after a moment of this confession from Fuel that he finally takes off. Within this camp, waiting among the tents and the makeshift pavillions, The camp is empty as you walk in. A few overturned logs around a campfire and a single tent with its flap pulled open part way. You crack the knuckles of your cybernetic, prepared to fire on anyone that might come out. It was no doubt a Pigmask camp. But it was barren. Perhaps it had recently been abandoned aside for this single, remaining individual.  
  
But after a few minutes of silence, a few minutes of absolutely no reaction from the shadowy figure within the tent, you step toward it, arm extended outward, only for a voice to break out.

“Well, Claus, I see you’re just as good as following directions as ever.” And from within the tent, a face stares up at you – warm, olive skin and green eyes, one bearing a crosshair, and a smile formed on his lips.

“Neil.”

There’s a faint laugh.

“Flannel, huh? Suits you.”


	7. Chapter 7

There are two ways you could have reacted to seeing Neil Alleweitz sitting inside this tent of a Pigmask Army military camp. The first would have been overjoyed, absolutely delighted, purehearted bliss and happiness at the sight of your former engineer and -- dare you say it? Friend? You could have wrapped your arms around the other man, pulled him into a grateful, appreciative embrace, stunned, shocked, surprised that someone you considered an ally had arrived in this other world. You could have asked how he was, asked what he was doing here, and what was going on. But you didn’t. Not quite.   
  
Instead, your arm converted into a cannon, its barrel pointed at the scientist who sat there with a calm smile, his hands raised in defeat as you allowed the prosthetic to power up, using whatever energy was able to be transmitted through that gel linking your arm with your brain. You scowled at him, and you were immediately filled with something akin to disgust. Here was Neil Alleweitz, your ally, sitting on a chair behind the curtains of a Pigmask Army military tent, surrounded by a makeshift laboratory. He doesn’t seem even the slightest bit surprised as you allow the cannon to heat up. And you aren’t even the slightest bit pleased to see him.   
  
Well you are, but you couldn’t let on.   
  
“What the  _ hell _ are you doing here?!” You find yourself growling as you gesture with your free arm to the surroundings.   
  
Your sudden distrust wasn’t something anyone would blame you for. Neil Alleweitz, your supposed ally in Operation Hummingbird, was sitting in a well designed Pigmask Army base camp, surrounded by his lab equipment, in full uniform, and seeming to be the agent in charge of this operation. There was even an array of new medals on his chest that implied he had recently risen in the ranks and oh good god, you  _ were pissed _ .

“I’m here for you.” Neil says quite coolly, slowly lowering his hands to rest on his knee, his legs crossed one over the other. “Why else would I be here?”

“Oh yeah, that’s really great, Neil -- what’re you going to do? Apprehend me? Take me back to that hellhole?” You do not let the cannons power-up lessen. You realize in this second that you are absolutely serious about wasting Neil if you think he’s a threat to this town and to the twins. “Kumatora told me you had gone missing and no one had seen anything of you, and I’m the first one to find you? In the alternate world, in a Pigmask base camp? And -- is that a medal of service on your uniform? What the  _ hell _ , Neil?!” You find yourself raising your voice, yet even as you do so, Neil does not seem perturbed.

“Oh, right.” Neil says, surveying his surroundings, perhaps too calm for your liking. No, he was most definitely too calm for your liking, considering you had a disintegration cannon powered up and aimed at his face. “Right, well, whether or not you are willing to believe me, I am undercover.”

“You’ll forgive me if I call bullshit on that, won’t you?”

“Of course, I wouldn’t believe me either.” Neil leans back in the chair, tilting his head upwards and studying the ceiling of the tent. “Well long story short, without the knowledge of the majority of agents in Operation Hummingbird, I negotiated with the King for my release from custody after my escape, saying I had orchestrated this entire ordeal. Told him that if he were to keep me as a new Commander, I would be able to direct him to an alternate form of this world where we would have the chance to recreate this world but even better. Even stronger.”

“That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. And I’m raising twin boys right now.”

“Fair enough, but that is the overall gist of things.” Neil adds. “But I’m also not finished. See, I had stumbled upon some research that suggested that this parallel version of our world was one that simple science and cosmic entities or what have you wouldn’t be able to arrive there by their normal means, and that this was a world of untapped resources and power and the King would most likely be interested in it. Furthermore, telling him I would be able to locate you and apprehend you was absolutely a clincher for him to seal the deal.”

“Well there you go. You found me. You got into this world; now leave.” You flip one of the switches on your arm but you hear it crackle and after a second the glowing core of the cannon began to pulse and slowly, it burned out with a slight pop. And you hear the sound of the arm powering down. The bit of gel you had applied to transmit signals had already worn off and with a heavy lurch to the side, your bicep unpreparedly having to hold up your forearm -- you slumped. The arm was turned off. And it was not turning back on.

“Not with you needing maintenance of that type.” Neil said hands extending hesitantly as if waiting for your permission. You look down at your limp arm and shift back.

“I don’t believe you, you know.” you say, Neil lowering his hands with a slight nod.

“I understand if you don’t. But if anything I’ve been keeping these soldiers from invading the town. They’re actually here to locate the young Kumatora, and they’re operating rather well without me. Orders from their King, not ours.”

“What do you mean, ‘their King.’”

“These aren’t soldiers from back home, Claus. They’re from  _ here _ . I’m the only one that’s been sent over so far. I arrived here, announced I would be their new commanding officer, and that was that. They’re following orders from above me. I’m just here keeping them in line. Most of them honest to god have no idea what we’re doing here. One of them, Kevin, nice boy, said he doesn’t even recall having ever lived on the islands. Said he’s from some place called Winters. I think the Andonauts family comes from there.”

“This isn’t your army?” you ask, taking a cautious step toward him.

“Not at all. I’m just watching them. They’re just pretty sure they’re on a scouting and surveillance mission. Not very bright.” Neil’s eyes fall upon your arm and you can sense that he’s itching to touch it.

“No, none of them ever really were…” you muse softly.

“Claus, I know you likely won’t believe me. But I am keeping them away from the village. The order I gave them is that no one from town can know we are here. You are to focus on the castle and nothing more. No harm is to come across anyone you encounter.” He pauses. “Now harm to one another is a different matter. There’s a lot of people in these ranks who are honestly too stupid to handle firearms, but here we are.” He inhales slowly and then stands. You don’t make a move to follow him but he approaches one of the tables set up and grabs a small kit and returns to you, pulling up another chair. “Even if you won’t trust me to keep them away from Tazmily, can you trust me to fix that arm of yours. It looks horrible.”

You stand there in silence for a moment before you finally resign yourself and sit down in the chair he’s brought over for you. You shift your shoulder about before you extend it outwards to him. Neil doesn’t make any sudden movements but as your forearm rests in his hands, he begins to remove the prosthetic, pressing the buttons on the side to take the limb off. But he doesn’t do only that. But with the arm removed and set to the side, he inches his chair closer to you, slowly working at removing the metal attachment that rest at the edge of your elbow. It was the technology in this attachment that allowed for the electrical signals to be produced on a more physical level. Cautiously, he pries the attachment away and his fingers rest on the bare skin of your amputated arm.

You sit there in silence with Neil for a moment as his fingers touch the folds of healed flesh of your. You can barely feel it, the nerve growth being very minimal compared to the rest of your body. Neil studies you. And from the tool kit he retrieves a small cloth, similar to that of a disinfectant wipe, and began to dab it over your arm, wiping away any grime that had built up on your skin. The attachment you wore around your elbow had been in place for so long and so much had built up. You had done routine cleaning, but it wasn’t quite enough. You didn’t have the right tools to properly clean your arm or the attachment, so it had been quite some time and having Neil taking care of you again -- it was almost relaxing.   
  
“Sorry, this part might feel weird.” His voice is soft as he reaches into the kit and retrieves a cotton swab, drenching it in some cleaning solution and he brushes it over a pucker in the flesh where the skin had knit together. There’s a jolt of cold through you and you shiver as the swab dips in it, and Neil swishes it around before he discards it. Afterwards, he takes the attachment into his lap and begins to clean it separately from the rest of your limb. “Thank you, for uh, you know -- letting me perform some maintenance.” He glances up and you notice the cross hair in 

his eye rotate and expand, seeming to be studying you just the same. “Claus, I mean it, I’m not your enemy..even if it might seem like it.”

“Neil, just work on my arm and stop talking. I’ll be the judge of where your loyalties lie.”

“Right.”   
  
Neil’s voice doesn’t come up again after that but he does tend to your arm, both the attachment and the actual arm. You sit still and silent as Neil sets your cybernetic on the table and opens it up, goggles sliding over his eyes as he retrieves some sort of electrical tool that begins to spark a bit. You don’t ask questions, but the way he silently switches tools flawlessly has you intrigued. Although, it’s nothing you can truly absorb.

You don’t ask questions when Neil applies fresh gel to your arm and to the attachments before reaffixing them to your elbow. “You’ll want to come see me again in about a month or so. Without a real lab, I can’t do a solid repair job. But this will be enough for now.”

“How do I know it won’t be a trap?”

“I’ll send Fuel.” Neil says as he stands, his tone sounding rather dejected as he carries the repair kit back to its rightful place. “If anyone but Fuel summons you to come see me, it’s a trap. He knows who I am, and he knows I trust him.” He looks up, a faint smile on his face as he approaches you, handing you a larger vial of the gel he had applied to your arm. “Make sure you apply this every other day, or after you shower.”   
  
Taking the vial you slide it into your shirt pocket and step away. “Neil, this is just --”

“Claus, just get it out of your system.” he says, closing his eyes, inhaling slowly.

And you don’t wait. You feel your fingers ball into a fist and with a single, fluid motion, your fist makes contact with the side of his face. You feel his flesh wobble and throb beneath the metal of your arm. He lurches to the side, stumbling and struggling a moment to regain his footing, raising a hand to hold you off.

“Better?” he asks. “I always thought you’d hit harder…”

You give him another taste of what it felt like to be punched by you, and he stumbles again -- and then he gives you a faint nod as he rights himself up, offering a weary smirk.

“Yeah, now I’m better.”

* * *

The first lightning strike happened that winter. It wasn’t well placed, but it struck the side of the house near the dining room table and a fire spread quickly against the walls. It wasn’t the worst of the lightning strikes, but it was enough of one that you had to usher the boys to do the ranch work, while you went to repair the wall. You had never had to do any sort of construction before, and you were left almost perplexed.   
  
By mid morning, the town had started to gather at your residence. Most commenting on how it was unfortunate. You had put the fire out easily but the damage was done. It was late December. The Giving holiday was right around the corner, although you didn’t recall many of its customs. The town had been preparing for the festivities by decorating with holly and pine and in the evening, you had been taking Lucas and Claus to the town square to participate in some of the children’s activities they had been holding.   
  
Most of the commentary you heard as you assessed the damage to the side of the house was that of indifference. A couple hostile remarks cropped up, an instance or two of residents thinking that this is what you deserved for not assimilating with the rest of the town. But as it would appear. Most people were there just to see the destruction. Eventually you got tired of it.   
  
“If you’re not going to help, you can leave.” you announced as you finally caved and went to the opposite side of the house where you recalled some split logs for firewood had been stored. This would have to do for now, you supposed. And this...would have to encourage you to go out and learn how to chop firewood. The supply was low and you were not about to leave the boys cold throughout the winter.

Most people didn’t leave after that. A couple of the more negative ones vanished, heading back into town to focus on what likely mattered more -- their families around the Giving holiday. The real important things. Not the damaged house of the town outcast.

You supposed that, you were going to have to put the boys up at the Yado Inn for a few days. But, money had just been introduced to the town. The people of Tazmily now know monetary worth. And you had nothing to your name. And the charity that you had thought Tazmily had harbored was long since extinguished and replaced with suspicion. 

“I said, if you aren’t going to help, then you can leave.” you comment again as you grab the axe from the lumber shed, knowing before you tapped into the remaining supply of lumber, you would need more firewood for that night. “My house was struck by lightning, there was a fire, and now I’ve got ‘til nightfall to repair the hole in the side of my house, or my nephews are going to freeze.”

You knew they cared more for the wellbeing of Claus and Lucas more than you and you almost hoped that this would appeal to them. Maybe get someone’s heartstrings to yearn to keep the children of this town safe. But there was no such outcome. The crowd thinned and eventually cleared, leaving you standing out front with the axe, with the twins and Boney by your side.

“We can sleep in the barn tonight if we have to.” Lucas says while the crowd finishes dissipating.

“That’s stupid Lucas, it’s still gonna be cold!”

“It’ll be less cold than a house with a hole in the wall, Claus!”

As the boys argue, you do notice that someone has remained behind and has gone to assess the damage of the house, a boy in tow as he does so. Lighter had remained behind with Fuel and had examined the charred wood remains of the house, thoughtfully as he glances down at Fuel, tossling his hair a bit before sending him over to the twins with, “Why don’t you and the boys go chop some firewood. Seems like Clay’s running short. Teach them the method I taught you.” Fuel grumbles but does as he’s told, passing you as he does so.   
  
“I think my dad wants you.” Fuel says as he grabs your hand, placing something inside your palm. It’s a small scrap of paper -- you’ll read it later. You suspect you know what it is, but there’s more important things at hand.

You round the side of the house to Lighter who is already chipping away at removing the excess burnt wood from the remains of the logs. You stand by his side in silence, studying what he’s doing for a moment before he speaks up. “S’not fair how this town regards you, Clay.” he says as he pulls what looks like a wood file from around his belt and begins to file down any of the splintered wood left behind. “You ain’t done nothing wrong. You stand up for the boys, you take care of them and the ranch. They’re happy and the kids of this town love you. Sure you might look a little funny, but you’re just a city boy who got caught up in some weird nonsense, s’far as I’m concerned.”

“You think they’re ever going to treat me, well, like a human being?” you ask as you study how Lighter sands away the burnt wood. “Doesn’t seem like they ever will.”   
  
“And knowin’ the people of Tazmily? It’ll take a world changin’ event before they ever consider you one of us. Might never happen. All you have to do is keep proving yourself to be a good person and they won’t have anything to hold against you.”

“So why would they accept Fassad so easily?” you ask gesturing to Lighter as if you want to assist in the repair’s he’s performing but he shakes his head in response.

“The people of Tazmily, pardon my French, are easily impressed by flashy language and performances.”

“That wasn’t French.”

“It’s an expression, Clay.” Lighter tucks the file back into his tool belt. “Point is, Fassad swept in, looking like an ordinary enough gentleman with his fancy presentations and merchandise, charmed everyone in town with a single effort, and there you had it. He mingled with the town almost flawlessly. You, however. You showed up after we just had our first accidental deaths  _ ever _ in this town. You came into Tazmily while our hearts were still broken. So it seems to me, every time they look at you? They remember that day.”

You were not a bad person. Not anymore at least. You had done some horrific things while you were nothing but a machine. You had taken and harmed lives while you were under the control of a militaristic force. You were once a monster. But you were not anymore. You hadn’t been for about a year now. A little longer than that, frankly. Time worked differently for you now. You were younger now than you had been when you left your home world -- you would assume that it had something to do with passing through space and time, but you were not scientifically inclined enough to understand it -- and you had arrived in Tazmily sometime in March. You had taken this time to learn again. To take a refresher course in humanity. Humanity comes back much faster when you’re surrounded by people who care about you. You wonder, if perhaps, if Tazmily had been more understanding of you, if you would have been restored to your true, human self, in even less time. It was hard to tell, but it was certainly something to think about.

Lighter had you follow along with him after he had tucked his file away. He left Fuel with the twins back at the ranch and guided you through the town, and the woods back to his home. The fire that was raging the night your mother’s life was taken had severely damaged his home, but it had since been rebuilt, along with much of Lighter’s additional buildings that surrounded his house for storage for tools, lumber and the like. He’d assessed the damage to your house and had determined what needed to be done. 

It was a long trek to and from Lighter’s place to yours and it had to be taken twice in order to carry the large logs to your house. Four of them, as far as Lighter was concerned, was needed and you and he would carry your own, one at a time. You paid no mind to the onlookers as you passed through town with nothing but wood and a bunch of tools.You had no experience in woodworking, so the guidance from Lighter was appreciated. You would learn something new and maybe, in time you would know how to do repairs like this on your own.

“Normally,” Lighter said after you and he had settled back down on your ranch to get to work on the repairs. “The people of Tazmily would band together and we’d have a barn raising of sorts, when something like this happened. It’s unfortunate that they--”

“Don’t care for me.” you fill in the sentence for him with something of a weak laugh. Lighter seems to catch on to your humor and shares the laugh with you.

“Alright Clay, now, I know you’re a city kid, so I’m gonna give you some pointers. For everything with woodworking -- measure twice, cut once.”

It’s while Lighter gives you tips and instructions, you notice that some visitors to the ranch arrived. Children, but visitors nevertheless. It starts with a girl in a thick, woollen, yellow jacket and dark brown hair pulled into pigtails. She approaches the twins and Fuel with what appears to be a picnic basket and you listen in.

“I know my dad doesn’t really like your uncle, but my mom sees nothing wrong with him, so she told me to come over with some sandwiches. Made the bread this morning too.” She smiles at the boys and opens up the basket offering the good inside to the three boys before she waves over to you and Lighter.

“Angie, right?” you say as you approach the young girl who reaches inside the basket to retrieve something for you and Lighter.

“Mhmm,” she says with a sing-songy like chime to her voice. “My mom made you all lunch. She was worried that you were going to forget to eat since you were working on your house. Saw you going through town with  _ giant _ logs -- like those!” she points to the logs that Lighter had just been cutting down to size. “And she told me to come visit and bring food and spend time with Lucas and Claus since they might be bored!”

“We were  _ about _ to play a game, Angie!” Fuel speaks up. “A  _ no girls allowed _ game!”

“Shut up, Fuel!” her voice cracks as she counters the young boy. “Lucas will let me play, right?!”

“Yeah!” Lucas’s voice is bright, although clearly muffled as his mouth was full of his new lunch. “Angie your mom makes really good sandwiches.”

“Lucas, do we hafta?” Claus grumbles a little bit, seeming to be somewhat embarrassed at Angie’s insistence on playing with them.

“I thought you liked Angie.”

“I do! I mean, not like that! But I like her! She’s cool. I mean, cool like a cool person --”

“What, and I’m not?” there’s another child’s voice that interrupts the banter between the already present ones and a young girl in a dark brown coat over an orange dress and a familiar young boy with glasses and strawberry blonde hair come up the hill as well. You knew these children as Richie and Nichol, Thomas’s children. And you quickly felt a pang of anxiety well up. Thomas did not care for you in the slightest. Richie smiles at you and you watch as her cheeks tend to flush a little, and she shoots her brother a rather sharp glance, snatching a basket from his hands as well. “Hi Mr. Clay.” She says sweetly, offering the basket to you. “I think my mom and Angie’s mom were conspiring because she made everyone cocoa and told us to bring it over.”

“I thought your parents didn’t like me, Richie.” she begins to giggle and Nichol speaks in her stead.

“Our father’s not too fond of you, but our mother was quite close to Mrs. Hinawa, and as far as she is concerned, any family of Hinawa’s is family to us as well.” He offers a smile and adjusts his glasses.

“Hey! Richie! Nichol!” You hear Angie call out. “Tell Fuel I’m allowed to play with them!”

“Oh he _ better _ let you play with them, or I’m gonna knock his lights out!”

“Mr. Clay.” Nichol nods as he offers you the basket. “If you would please excuse me, I have to be sure my sister does not commit homicide.”

It’s only from there, that another child comes approaching the ranch, and this time you’re all too aware that this girl should not be carrying what she has in her hands. She’s a tiny girl in a pink winter coat that looks far too big for her and instead of gloves, large ovenmits are pulled over her hands. She wears a pale blue knit cap with white pigtails sticking out from underneath. She approaches you and gives you a large smile.

“Hi my mommy and daddy had extra soup and thought you might be cold!” she says with a brilliant, shining smile, lifting the pot up to you which you very quickly take so the small girl doesn’t end up toppling over. You suspect that the pot of soup might weigh more than she does -- and from the heat coming from the pot, you conclude that there is no way that this soup was extra. “Can I play with Lucas now?” she asks, seeming to be bouncing a little. “I’ve never gotten to come here all by myself!!”

Compared to the other children, she’s positively tiny -- her name is Alle, and from what you know she’s the youngest child in town and she’s still getting her footing. Much like you.

“Alle, what are you doing here?” you hear Richie say as she guides the smaller girl over to her. “You live so far! Did you come here by yourself?”

“Yeah!” she announces with an almost squeaky declaration. “And I kicked a rat on my way too!”

You and Lighter are about to get to work when a final visitor starts to show her head. At least you hope it’s a final visitor. It’s approaching noon, and you and Lighter need to repair the hole in the wall before nightfall or you really will be sleeping in the barn that night. The final guest is a young blonde girl, probably about thirteen, so a bit older than the other children, and she’s carrying not just a basket but a bag as well. You see Lighter dart around the side of the house, almost as if to avoid her. 

“Okay, um, so like, hi Mr. Clay. I’m gonna try to make this short ‘cause I know people find my talking like, super annoying sometimes but I just wanna make sure that like, you understand where I’m coming from. But like, me and my mom and my dad, we all kinda know what it’s like to not be popular in town, and like I  _ know _ it’s ‘cause I talk a lot and don’t really let anyone have a word in edgewise but I swear it’s not that I’m trying to drown people out, I just have a lot to say and I don’t have a lot of friends and I wanna tell people about what I’m thinking and you know, I tried a diary once but I can talk a lot faster than I can write, so it didn’t really do anything --”

“Get to the point, Nana!” You hear Claus call from over with the other children.

Her cheeks flare up with a blush as she realizes she’s been going on a bit too long. “Okay so, point is, we heard that a bunch of the kids were bringing you lunch and stuff, so me and my mom made cookies for everyone. And we also brought you some wine, because my parents always say that nothing takes the edge off like a nice glass of wine at the end of the day and --”

You crouch down and put a hand on her shoulders and offer her a smile. “Thank you, Nana.” you say to her, cutting her off knowing full well she would keep going if you let her continue. “That was very kind of you. Did you want to play with the other kids too?”   
  
She glances back at the other kids, then to you, looking a little embarrassed. “I don’t think they’d let me. They always make fun of me for talking.”

“You have a lot to say.” you agree. “Why not listen to them too? And maybe some of them might say the things you want to say, and you can agree with them instead. Might be easier than you think. Besides, you might make a good balance for Lucas. He doesn’t talk as much so maybe you can tell him what you want to say, and he can talk for you.”

And her eyes light up and to your surprise she gives you a quick hug before going over to the other children to spend time with them as well -- and you make note. There isn’t even the slightest hint of them rejecting her company.

“Y’know,” Lighter says as he guides you back over to the work station. “I might be wrong about the people of Tazmily. Right now, seems to me like they’re willing to give you a shot.”

* * *

The repairs on the house are finished by a little before sundown. With the house reassembled and the children gathered around inside to warm up, you find yourself with company as various parents from across the town come to collect their children. They offer words of thanks and kindness as some children are roused from a nap, while others protest, not wanting to go home just yet. They like spending time with Mr. Clay, Claus and Lucas. They enjoy your company and you suppose, hearing the resounding approvals from the kids, some of the parents of Tazmily have finally come to understand that you might not be as bad as you seem.

Lighter and Fuel are the last to leave. Lighter tosses another log on your fire and ushers Fuel out the door before he turns to you. 

“Tazmily’s an odd town, Clay.” he says. “We go back as far as we can remember, but we don’t really have much of a written history. It’s all via word of mouth.”

Oh, you were all too familiar with this.

“We hold tight to our own. We don’t do well with change. But I’m starting to think, maybe you’re the kind of change this town needs. We don’t need any technology to make us happy, maybe we just need something like a different outlook.”

“You been reading motivational posters?” you ask, a laugh behind your words.

“I’ve not, but that would sure make a good one, wouldn’t it?” He offers a smile as he heads out the door. “Take care, Clay. Let me know how those logs hold up. We’ll knock down the whole wall and get it properly put in once spring comes.”   
  


Lucas and Claus are in bed and ready to sleep faster than they ever had been. Both of them were washed up and in their pajamas before you could even put the rest of the leftover soup and sandwiches away.

You only get a grumbling “Goodnight” from the books before you hear them go completely silent and fall asleep. And for you, sleep comes just as fast.

However, sleep does not take you for long. You suppose you had only been asleep for an hour or two before something clicks in your head -- it’s winter. Where did the lightning  _ come from _ .

You are only left pondering that thought for a few moments before you remember the note you received from Fuel. You scramble from your bed and retrieve your coat, stuffing your hand in the pocket to pull out the crumpled piece of paper. Your eyes grow wide and fearful as you read the simple message.   
  
‘ _ They’re coming.   -N’ _

* * *

 

The timeline between Neil’s message to you and their first arrival is not nearly as close as you had anticipated. You had expected that soldiers would be upon your doorstep within days, but that never came. You were due to meet with him shortly after the start of the new year, and you supposed that you could always discuss matters with him then. He had given a signal that he could be trusted, but you not be certain. You often wondered if you were right to trust him. Or distrust him. Or whatever this was involving you holding him at arm’s length.

But you would not have the time.  

It had been a week since the first lightning strike and you had been laying awake in bed. Your mind had been stirring with scenarios and questions that you could not quite figure out or solve, leaving you restless. You knew this to be anxiety. You had a lot of that these days. With good reason, of course. You were a wanted military criminal and former research project, on the run from an empire that wanted you dead, or worse yet, enslaved. But you had now forged a life here. A life of comfort and love and family. You had two boys, nephews as you would continue to refer to them as, that adored you and seemed to be willing to do anything to make sure that you didn’t leave their side.

You knew what it was like to live these years without a parent. Without love. Without care and support. And you would be damned if you let them experience that for a moment longer than they had to.

Now and then you would find one or both of them in a dazed and detached. You recognized it as a symptom of grief. Often they would disconnect or seem to lose track of themselves. It was something no one, especially a child, should have to deal with in silence. You would often make a point of pulling whichever boy was experiencing these moments aside and sit him down. You’d always ask “Is it hurting again?” To which, you usually would get a quiet nod of affirmation. You would let the boy sit with you, leaving him open to talk if he wanted to, but allowing for any and all reactions.   
  
Lucas had the occasional violent outbursts. You weren’t surprised. He cried often, but mostly when he was frustrated or angry with something. You’d watched him make an effort to do dishes for you while Claus was finishing corralling sheep back into the barn one evening. And from the silence of the cottage you heard the clamoring shatter of glass as Lucas threw the dish on to the ground, and began to wail against the sink. He screamed and cried for a few moments, phrases mixed in about how he couldn’t take it any longer. How he couldn’t stand knowing that he would never be handed a dish by his mother to try and put away. You tried to approach him to comfort him. But he wouldn’t let himself be comforted. You had told him to simply let it out, get out whatever was hurting him. Any yelling and screaming that would make it better, he was allowed to explode as much as he needed to. And as his shouts subsided, he flung himself at you. Tiny hands clung to your shirt as he cried against your torso, dampening your flannel with tears as he repeated apologies over and over again for breaking the plate. You told him time and time again -- plates are allowed to break into pieces. Lucas did not have to.

More often than not, you found that Claus would act as if he were in denial, but he was usually a short fuse. You would find him some days working extra hard, bundling up bales of hay and organizing them in the barn, or repairing fence posts, or taking control of work so you wouldn’t have to. He was always so eager to take care of the ranch, and when asked what had him so enthusiastic about work, he would declare proudly, “Mom and Dad are coming home from their trip soon, right? I want the ranch to look like they’ve never left!” But it was no easy task for him to say this. It was always so clear on Claus’s face when he was asked that he was lying. He knew he was lying before anyone else knew. He knew he was making it up. You didn’t have to remind him that Hinawa and Flint would not be returning. Claus would often begin to tremble. Drop whatever he was holding and slowly fall to his knees, hands covering his face as he began to sob into his palms. He knew better than anyone (with exception of Lucas) that his parents would not be returning.

That was something most of the children, and even the adults, of Tazmily did not account for. Lucas was very visible with his emotions. It wasn’t unheard of for the smallest, tiniest thing to make him cry. Such as a rock getting stuck in his shoe, or someone deliberately saying his name wrong, or Claus teasing him. He wasn’t afraid to show if he was upset by something. But Claus was the one most people never accounted for. He was a crier too. And while Lucas cried from being irritated or angry, more often than not, Claus simply cried more easily. He cried when he got hurt. He cried when he was sad. He cried when he was happy. Specific things always made Lucas tear up. But everything made Claus cry. He was just better at hiding it.   
  
You noticed one day when you had seen him chewing on his lip and told him once, then twice, then three times to cut it out. He was going to get chapped lips and they were going to start bleeding if he kept it up. But when he kept at it, you had gotten a closer look, having had him pull down his lower lip. Inside his lip, he was covered in sores and bite marks. When you asked what this was for, he said quite honestly that it was to keep from crying around other people. He had a reputation to uphold. Everyone saw how cool he was normally. No one thinks it’s cool when you cry. He only cries at home when you and Lucas are the only ones around. Because you can keep a secret.

You had sworn to keep these boys safe. No matter the cost. No matter what harm may fall upon you. You would have to endure any punches thrown your way. You had already contended with being disliked by the majority of the adults of Tazmily. You had already experienced damage to your home. You had already dealt with the struggle of not being sure if you could trust the one familiar face you had seen in nearly a year.   
  
And now you were facing down a half dozen soldiers in full Pigmask regalia standing outside your door, weapons drawn, with only the faint stars above you to light the soon-to-be-battlefield.   
  
It was January 1. You had just rung in the new year with the twins a few hours prior and they were now out cold, sleeping away the last moments of the previous year. They were going to wake to a new year that would not offer them the same heartache the previous year had caused them. But you, on the other hand, were ringing in the year with the plan in mind that these boys absolutely could not and would not struggle in the year to come. They were turning twelve this year and there was no way you would let their last year of childhood harm them.

There were six soldiers before you as you stood on the porch. Boney was at your side, growling and threatening to bark. He was a smart dog, thankfully. A single bark would have alerted the boys and you were not about to drag them into this. You stood, arms raised, as if willing to comply and go with the soldiers that had arrived under the cover of night to apprehend you. 

“You’re coming with us,  _ Commander _ .” One of the soldiers said, voice muffled by his helmet, although you could hear the sarcasm being utilized for your previous title. You roll your eyes in response.

“You’ve caused the Empire a lot of trouble and you’ll pay dearly for it.” another chimed in, eliciting a sigh from you as you stepped from the porch, arms still raised as if you were about to forfeit.

“Can we wait ‘til morning?” you ask, finding yourself suddenly booming with a sense of cockiness that you can only assume has come from raising twin boys. “I got twins sleeping inside. I at least gotta find someone to watch them while I’m gone. You know how hard it is to find a caretaker for  _ grieving orphans _ ?”

You feel the bite of malice yourself as those last words escape you.

“Don’t worry, we’re here for the boys as well.” another soldier chimes in.

“Going to put an end to this before it can even start.”

And that’s what causes your expression to fall, along with your hands. You narrow your eyes as your arms go limp by your sides and find yourself scowling. “Oh no, I did not like what I just heard.” you say quietly as you lift your forearm, checking the battery (78%. That’s sufficient enough). “You just told the guardian of two boys that you’re here for them. Well, as a father figure in training --” You press the sides of your forearm and feel the device kick to life as your upper arm throbs as what feels like electricity pulses from your neck and shoulder down to your palm. You life your hand, palm exposed and panels folded back exposing the bright, golden glow of energy building up. “I’m afraid I can’t go with you willingly anymore. _ ” _

The next few moments are fast. You feel something click in the back of your head and the metaphorical (and perhaps physical) fans begin to turn and engines kick to life. Your training as an operative returns as you find yourself aiming your hand in a few strategic gestures toward four of the soldiers who have now begun to charge in your direction. You are not aiming to harm more than necessary. And for all that it’s worth, the few moments it takes are relatively silent.   
  
At least until five of the six soldiers go tumbling down and the sixth lunges in your direction with a steel baton raised over his head with the intention of swinging it down upon your skull. Boney jumps out to bite at his legs and in order to parry the baton away, you raise your organic arm above your head, prepared to hear the crunching of bone as the steel will most likely shatter it upon impact. But you do not feel it, instead a glow of gold appears within your hand and the plasma like sword you were known to carry (primarily for decoration and/or intimidation) shines to light to block the attack. You had not used this weapon, programmed to be used when called upon, in a very long time.   
  
You are given the opening, you swing at the soldier and knock him back, sending him into a heap with the other soldiers.   
  
It has been less than ten minutes since you stepped outside. Boney scampers off, rushing in through the dog door back into the house, going to check on the boys inside.   
  
“I think the old you could’ve done that faster. Were you holding back or something?”   
  
You are quick to find yourself searching for the source of the voice, aiming your arm’s cannon in the direction it sounded like it came from. You clench your hand into a fist, momentarily before letting the barrel glow to life again. But from the distance you see a figure start to move toward you. They wear a uniform, much like your Commander’s uniform before you jumped ship. Dark grey in color (as far as you can tell) with a cap hanging down from their shoulders. They’re a tall figure, male as far as you can judge with dark hair, with a flick of blonde, slicked back and upon their face they wear a rather cheerful expression as they approach, hands raised to show they mean no harm.

“What d’you think of the new duds, cool right?”   
  
And you’re left in stunned silence as you realize the figure in question is none other than your childhood friend and cousin -- Fuel. You lower your arm and you power down silently as the figure approaches you, a smug, rather confident smile worn upon his face as he steps over the legs of one of the incapacitated soldiers. His hands remain raised and he’s still reacting as calmly as ever.

“Without you in the picture, they needed a new  _ legit  _ Commander, and wouldja believe it? They gave it to me!”

“You played Minecraft and ate chips all day.”

“Really, Claus? Haven’t seen each other in almost a year, and that’s the first thing you say? No ‘congratulations’ or ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ or ‘I just planted those begonias.’ or something more, I dunno,  _ appropriate _ ?”

“You wanted a reaction to saying you were made Commander, and so I gave you what I thought was appropriate -- a reason I don’t believe it. You were more concerned about losing your progress in Minecraft than my memories returning, and to be frank, I don’t really have much reason to welcome you so kindly, considering your appearance just coincided with my home being attacked.” You are quick to react his comments and you almost consider charging your arm back up.   


“Yeah about that, I’m kind of the reason why you’ve been attacked. You know, s’pretty cool being able to talk to you normally now, and not feel like I’ve got to talk to a computer. Pretty cool. You seem like, kind of an asshole.”

“Fuel, you just led soldiers to attack my home, I’m  _ allowed _ to be an asshole. Furthermore, lower your  _ goddamn voice _ . There are children sleeping inside.”

“Yeah, so about that, uh you know I kinda am gonna need you to step aside. ‘Cause I’ve got orders that I either gotta take  _ you _ back, or one of those kids. And no hard feelings buddy, but those kids seem a lot easier for me to nab than you. Ex-commander or not, I really don’t think abducting a kid is gonna be that hard --” And as he speaks he starts to step toward you, almost as if he were trying to side step around you to enter your house.   
  
But you do not allow him that opportunity as your arm raises, having made the decision subconsciously, and your palm is open at Fuel’s face, scowling as you feel its tech kick to life, channeling your energy into your forearm. “ _ If you want them, you have to go through me anyways _ .”

And Fuel steps back, and his expression loses its bravado. And his entire demeanor softens before he realizes he would genuinely have to challenge you should he want to get past you. “Claus, listen. . .I’m sorry I kept it from you. I knew the entire time. I recognized you. I was amazed that Lucas hadn’t before he died. I didn’t know what to make of it. But I was young, alright? Scared. I had found out what happened to my cousin years ago, and before I could even tell anyone, I got pulled into this. And, I know. It’s not right what they did. It’s not right that they made you into what you were. That they made you kill Lucas. That they just. Took everything away from you. Believe me, if I knew then what I knew now, I wouldn’t have taken the offer. I would’ve fought to bring you home and maybe we could’ve made things right back then.” He raises his hands again, offering you a smile once more. “But Claus, that’s the past. And the thing is, it’s gonna happen again. Nothing you do in this world is going to change it. You’re just prolonging it. You might be alive as a kid in this world still, but for how long? You delayed the death by what, a year? How much more are you going to postpone it? Claus dies. And he always comes back as part of the Masked Man Project. You’re just going to make this harder on yourself.”

You stand there in relative silence as Fuel speaks, but you do not lower your arm. You have no intention of doing so. Your friend. Your cousin. The only family that you knew was left from your world. He had just made a threat on the family you had created. But the way he spoke was not that of a man aiming to lure you into a trap. But of a man who was doing as he was ordered. A man who you acted like once upon a time. You do not react. You do not let any of the pangs in your chest at the thought of losing Claus show on your face. You hadn’t truly thought about the idea that Claus would still die, no matter how you interfered. You knew there were always to be universal constants. You and Kumatora had discussed that from one of your telepathic conversations. But you had not consider Claus dying would be one of them.

“Listen, Claus, if you come with me, the Empire won’t have reason to meddle in this world anymore than they have to. We’re here for you first and foremost. I was told, we either take you, or one of the twins. And if you come, they assured me they won’t execute you.” There’s almost a laugh in his voice. “They’ll just, redo what they did before. Except instead of Dr. Andonauts, it’ll be Dr. Neil Alleweitz performing the conditioning. You like him, right? He oversaw all your developments since Andonauts stepped down, it’ll be like old times. You come with me, resume your position as the Masked Man and do what you’re told, and we vacate this world, leaving this world’s Claus and Lucas to survive on their own. But they’ll survive.”

And it’s almost as if he speaks he realizes how horrifying this sounds and you see the crinkle in his brow as his shoulders slouch and he tears his gaze away from you, combing a hand through his hair. You have no reaction for him. You will not leave. You will not return to the Empire. You will not let the boys face harm.   
  
“Please, Claus.” he says, his voice sounding weary. “They sent me because they thought if anyone could get you to come back without a fight, it would be me. I don’t know what they’ll send after me, but please, I don’t want to see this get worse than it already is.”

“I thought you were part of Operation Hummingbird.”

“I thought so too.” Fuel says. “But I saw first hand what they were going to do to us. I broke off. I made a deal. If I could somehow get you to come back, all apprehended members of the Operation would be dismissed.”

“Do you really believe the Empire would dismiss people of their crimes for conspiring against them?” You ask with something of a sneer, adjusting your shoulder so that you can keep your aim steady should you need to attack.

“So you’re not going to come with me willingly, huh?” Fuel says, tone lowering and dejected as he heaves out a sigh. You shake your head. “Damn. . .that sucks.” There’s a moment of silence before he looks up and the words, “ _ For you _ .” Escape from him.   
  
The hand he had just brushed through his hand swings outward quickly, and as if channeling it from nowhere, fire came bursting from his hand, immediately striking the snow before you, causing it to steam and evaporate quickly, leaving some of the brush beneath it to smoulder slightly. You’re thrown back closer to the house as you aim to dodge from the path of flames. You realize this will not be a weapon activated fight against Fuel and you dismiss the cannon charge and from the hand that had carried the sword (now since disappeared), you feel the coursing of electricity in your veins.    
  
“ _ Since when do you know PSI _ ?!” You find yourself calling out, louder than you had anticipated, moving forward to allow the static charge around your limbs to increase as you find yourself approaching Fuel, suddenly filled with a new type of anger. “ _ You didn’t have the potential for it _ !”

“Funny, right? It’s called  _ SCI _ . With an -sc instead! Something Dr. Alleweitz was studying --  For someone who was the Empire’s number one project, you sure don’t know  _ anything _ about what we were researching, huh?” Fuel laughs heartily as you watch as more flames begin to surround his hands, his arm outstretched aiming toward the house.   
_   
_ _ “Oh, PSI and SCI. As in S-C-I. Scientific PSI. Oh -- We, didn’t. . .tell you that did we? In the past three years, we’ve finished developing Scientifically Produced PSI, but I’ll tell you about it another time. If I ever get over there --” _

“ _ You _ ?!” you call out. “You’re one of the SCI users Neil mentioned?!” You fling your arm outwards toward Fuel, hoping to knock him off balance so that the fire aims somewhere other than the house. You know what he’s trying to do. He’s trying to go after the twins. But.   
  
This isn’t right. You know it’s not right. Fuel was never this sort of person. He was stubborn and cocky. Kind of lazy. Kind of obnoxious. But he had a good heart in him. He was not the sort of person who would plan on harming children. Especially not children whom he knew to be family.   
  
“There’s a lot you don’t know about the Empire, Claus! A lot you don’t know about me, a lot you don’t know about Dr. Alleweitz -- and you’re just letting the world play you for a fool!” Fuel laughs and you let the lightning course from your arm and --

Nothing.

The lightning stops in mid air, its seemingly erratic patterns suspended within its trajectory toward your old friend who, as far as you could tell, was not himself. Of course he wasn’t himself. This wasn’t Fuel. They had done something to him, hadn’t they? They had made him into some sort of weapon, just like you had been. And they were using him against you. But he was right about something -- there was a lot you didn’t know. You only knew you had to keep Claus and Lucas safe, no matter what it took.   
  
But that was only the second thing on your mind.   
  
The first was how as you released the lightning from your hand, time seemed to stop. Fuel’s face was pulled into a broad, confident laugh, that would have been fitting had the circumstances not been so horrifying. Fire had begun to erupt from his hand and flickers of green and blue began at the base of his fingers and some licks of red, gold and orange extended further outward. But what caught your attention more than all of this.   
  
Was the figure that had appeared right between you and Fuel.   
  
He stood close to your height, albeit much slimmer. Something akin to a runner’s build. His back was to you, dressed in what appeared to be a dark vest, perhaps brown and the way it bore a sheen to it suggested it was some kind of leather. Beneath it a simple t-shirt that in the lighting appeared to be grey but could have been white or pale blue -- you didn’t dwell too long. And he wore fitted pants, his calves wrapped in bandages that stuck out from a pair of boots.    
  
Around his neck, and pulled up over his head was a long, thick red scarf that gave a slight flutter, despite the apparent lack of time or motion around them. It hung like a hood over his head, and you suspected it might be a hood from the vest, rather than the scarf. It was hard to tell in the darkness.    
  
It’s silent, but you hear him speak.   
  
“Get some water.” he says, his voice soft, trailing with a faint sound of melancholy. “Just a pailful. From the water trough next to the house. Any will do.”   
  
Though stunned, you felt compelled to listen and retrieved the small, tin pail which you usually kept corn in for the chickens, which had been barren during the winter months, and you proceed to scoop water into it, bringing it toward the stranger.   
  
“Not for me,” he says. “Douse Fuel’s flames.” He points, still not yet looking at you, toward Fuel, to which you comply and dump the water over the still fire to extinguish them. The figure raises a gloved hand, the fingers have been cut away seemingly as part of the aesthetic, and he snaps, and in an instant Fuel vanishes. You open your mouth in protest. “Relax, I sent him home. It will buy you some time.” He then steps aside and seems to lean forward, examining your lightning. “Oh, when will you learn…” he mutters as he leans in close to the lightning and pinches the stray strands of electricity and as he does so, they seem to reflect off of him and are flung out to sea with a loud crackling of thunder.   
  
It’s then that he turns to face you. You cannot see his features other than the tip of his nose, his mouth and chin. He is obscured and you can tell as he looks at you that this is exactly as he wants it to be. He snaps his fingers again and the few incapacitated Pigmask soldiers vanish as well.    
  
“Who are you?” You finally muster the chance to speak as you study the figure for all it’s worth. You squint and yet, you feel this tugging within you saying that whoever this person is. You can trust him. You have no reason to doubt this person.    
  
“When the boys reach thirteen,” he says, dodging the question, as you suspected. “Take them to the needles. Kumatora and Duster will be at a nearby club. You will need them to come with you. You cannot do this alone.” The figure approaches you slowly and takes your hand. “They will need to pull the needles together. Do you understand?”   
  
As the figure stands close, as hard as you try, you cannot make out his face, and it registers that this figure is using some sort of magic, or PSI to conceal himself. He wants to make sure you do not recognize him. But you feel yourself yearning, and something inside is telling you that you already know who it is.   
  
“Both twins. Needles. Together.” You repeat briefly with a nod as you feel the figure hold on to your hand and as he does so, you feel something slip into your hands.

“You have one, I had the other -- give each of them one of these. You’ll know when the time will come for them.” You feel the strangers hand squeeze and you see his lips form into a smile before he steps back.   
  
You open your hand and look inside. A Franklin Badge. Matching the one Kumatora had given you before you left. You look up and see the figure standing a fair distance away, the smile still clear before he speaks once more.   
  
“It was good to see you.”   
  
And with what sounds like a clap of thunder and the rushing gust of a tornado all at once -- you find that time has restored, leaving you standing alone listening to the ambient echoes of the sea below the cliffs and the rustling of tree branches. Amidst it, you hear the creak of a door, and you turn to find the twins standing in the front doorway of the house, rubbing their eyes sleepily.   
  
“Uncle Clay we heard noises…” Lucas yawns as you approach the children. Boney returns in tow as you lean down to scoop Lucas up. Nearly twelve or not, you don’t necessarily mind. He’s small enough you can lift him with ease.   
  
“Uncle Clay are you bleeding?” Claus asks as he looks up at you and you find yourself patting at your cheek, noticing that you had taken a hit to the face during some of the altercation.   
  
“I’m fine, Claus.” You say as you step back inside. “Just some coyotes.” You glance back out as you let the door close behind you, surveying for any sign of life. “Just some really nasty coyotes.”   
  
You bring both boys back to their bed and tuck each of them in, pressing light, affectionate kisses to each of their foreheads. Boney quickly hops on to the bed and nestles down in between them. You smile, and glance outside, knowing dawn was only a few hours away.   
  
“Let’s make this a good year.”

* * *

  
Spring came faster than you expected and so did the realization that in this world, the twins birthday was in the spring in this world. Your birthday was in the fall, but they were quite the opposite. You had seen Alec briefly over the winter holidays as he came to visit to see how you were faring and asked what you were planning for the twins birthdays in May -- which took you by surprise. Yours was September 22, and Lucas had been the 23rd, only a few minutes before and after midnight separating your birthdays. It seemed this was a constant in all the worlds. Claus was born May 22 and Lucas was born May 23. Again, according to Alec, only minutes apart. You couldn’t help but wonder if this meant something. Quite likely not, but you wondered for a moment if in another world, you and Lucas had a different birthday then as well.

You hadn’t even realized you had missed their birthday before, but from what you gathered -- they hadn’t been upset by it. Life was very tough for them in the early months of loss and it was likely they didn’t mind skipping the celebrations. A first birthday without their parents? You didn’t want to think about how that must have felt for them.

But for now, it was early March. It was still cold. Snow still decorated the ranch. But grass had started to regrow around the grounds and the sheep and chickens wanted to get out as much as possible, growing antsy as they sensed the warmth of spring growing ever closer. By spring you had noticed that the animals weren’t the only antsy ones, but the boys were too. They got outside plenty during the winter as they helped clear snow with you, but they were itching to play and be children while youth still had its hold on them.    
  
They had wanted their freedom. They were already young and relatively independent and capable of taking care of themselves even without your guidance. Of course, this was by no means a reason for you to leave and give up your guardianship over them, but this was a realization that though you were needed, they did not need you at all times.

You did give them their space of course. But you knew, like any kids, they kept secrets. You couldn’t help but notice one evening when you approached the house after corralling the sheep into the barn for the night, the hushed whispers between the boys from outside the cottage door. From within, you could see an unnatural glow -- not that of a lamp, but something otherworldly. You heard them whispering. The utterance of Claus saying “Shh, Uncle Clay’s coming.” followed by Lucas saying “Okay, I’ll put it out,” only for the light to vanish and only the light of the lamb left behind.   
  
You suspected it was PSI.

You knew Lucas had the gift for PSI. You had known since you had killed him in your world all those years ago. When he had it tapped into in this world? You couldn’t say. You knew it was something that had to be awakened. You didn’t know much else about the origins of PSI, however. That was Neil’s area of expertise. And you were not in the mood to discuss it with him.

* * *

“Lucas is showing signs of PSI, is he?”

  
And yet there you were, discussing it with him.   
  
Your arm rest upon a table that Neil had set up, one of the panels open on your arm as Neil began to tweak some sort of technology you didn’t understand. You had gotten it a little wetter than usual, and the usual bag of rice trick wasn’t working, so Neil was diligently performing maintenance on your arm to ensure it was in working order. It had been a year since you had arrived, and maintenance was due. 

“I don’t know if it’s untapped or not.” you say softly as you aim your gaze away from Neil’s as he works. You don’t want to indicate that you’re too interested in what he’s doing; you still don’t trust him, after all. “I hear him showing it off to Claus sometimes when I’m outside. Nothing spectacular, as far as I can tell. Just light for the time being.”

“Flash?” Neil looks up from your arm, a brow quirked as he pauses in his routine. “Lucas in our world never knew Flash. That was something only Commander N --”

“I know his name was Ness.” you interrupt him with something of a sneer, and you notice that you’ve silenced Neil, who gazes away, frightfully apologetic looking as he slowly resumes work. 

“Well, in our world, Lucas didn’t initially learn that ‘til shortly before he encountered you for the first time, if I recall. Maybe he’s already been using for a few years --”

“I’ve been living with these boys for a year, I would have noticed by now.”

“Well,” Neil pauses again at your interruption. “Parents don’t notice a lot of things when they’re too focused on a mission. Mine didn’t notice me. And maybe you haven’t noticed Lucas, because you’re more focused on Claus. Since you’re one in the same.”

“Don’t talk to me like you know my relationship with them.”

“That’s not what I’m saying, Claus --”

“ _ Clay _ .” You correct him, surprised at yourself for doing so. You suppose you have grown fond of this name.

“ _ Clay _ .” Neil continues. “All I am suggesting is that maybe Lucas has been exhibiting his PSI all along, and you haven’t equated certain traits of his to PSI.”

“Not everything  _ has _ to be PSI, you know.”

“You’re the one who brought this up. I’m only weighing in as, you know, an expert in my field.”

“You’re right, my apologies.” You admit defeat in the exchange and find yourself growing quiet, almost as an invitation to Neil to resume his analysis.

“If I may,” Neil continues as you notice a small spark come from within your arm, spurring a jolt of fear within your gut. “I think, due to his exposure to you, Lucas’s PSI might be advancing faster than if he had been acting alone. You have a fair bit of PSI, albeit it’s still rather unrefined, but exposure to another user could explain why he’s exhibiting it so early. It usually takes exposure to the magic of the Magpies in order to tap into that potential. Maybe even considering your prolonged telekinetic bond with Kumatora, that could be giving off some sort of electromagnetic wave between you and Lucas, that spans dimensional distance, allowing him to realize this power at a much younger age.”

“I’m an intelligent man, Neil, but I’m still going to need you to dumb that down for me.”

“Kumatora’s residual energy from you makes Lucas’s PSI advance faster.”

“Makes sense,” you sigh a bit and rest your chin in your spare hand as Neil resumes his work. You remain in silence with him for a few moments before you hear the click of your arm as the panel closes and you feel sensation come back to life as your false nerve endings are powered back on.

“You know what I have to do next, don’t you?”   
  
“You’re not getting the wings to come out.” You react. “Not here. Not in this world. I’ll take the scar tissue and the swelling over the risk of being seen as a monster.”   
  
“I anticipated you’d say that,” Neil says as he stands and approaches a cabinet to the far side of the table in his tent. “So I prepared something for this case. It’s a salve, technically speaking. I’ll need to make an incision over the slats are in your back and apply this to your back to ensure that although the wings might not be in use, they’ll still be maintained.”   
  
“You’re going to inject my back with a metal lubricant basically.”

“Well, if you have to make this sound like I’m a mechanic, yes. I was trying to address you as a person, but I see that’s not what you’re after.” His lips form into a tight frown that almost makes him look like a child. You supposed it was the curse of his baby face, making him look much younger than he actually was.

“You’re an engineer.” you say. “You’re allowed to regard my parts as machinery.”

“Yes, but  _ you _ aren’t.”Neil quips back, approaching you with something of a sneer. “Shirt off. If you don’t want to deal with horrific back pain from muscle cramping for the next six months, you’ll let me do my work.”

_ You aren’t _ .   
  
Those words stick in your mind like gum to the bottom of a shoe. Neil was regarding you as a person. Not as a subject. Not as an experiment. Not as work. He was trying to regard you as a person. A human being. He wanted to be like a doctor to their patient with you and you supposed that was precisely what he was accomplishing. With your shirt discarded and laid on the table, you feel the cool swabbing of a topical numbing agent on your back and the pressure of something gliding down your back.   
  
“Hang tight,” Neil says as you feel something soft brush down your back. “Little more blood than I would have liked despite the scar tissue, it’s only a surface incision, but you are still human after all.” You feel a pinch, and like that, a coolness rushes over you and then you no longer feel the chill of the air and instead what you conclude to be a bandage being applied.   
  
Neil repeats the process for the other side of your back and then turns you around, offering you your shirt again, his gaze somewhat torn away. “You know, you uh, still have the same physique as when we were younger.” he mutters, sounding embarrassed. “Unlike me, I just got fatter.”

“You’ve spoken about me as a teenager a few times.” you comment, buttoning up your shirt again, looking up at Neil who has since turned away to put his supplies away. “How often were you in my presence? I don’t recall you being part of the picture until I was around twenty.”

“Oh, well,” Neil pauses as he closes the cabinet he had just stored some of his tools in. “You probably wouldn’t remember much, but ah, when I first started my internship at eighteen -- I had been looking forward to it for  _ years _ ! -- I was assigned to check your vitals on a daily basis. I. I don’t think you would have recollection of me. Aha, you were usually comatose for research purposes while I was around. Not much to remember a person by when you’re asleep for most of it.”

“You sound a little unsure.”   
  
“Oh no, I’m quite positive. I just. I just came in daily to perform rounds to test your vitals. Every day at 2 o’clock. Nothing more. Nothing less. Not until I was hired on to the team. I never knew you before.” There’s a shakiness to his voice as you stand to approach him. You stand behind him, noticing the tense position he has forced himself into. You make to reach for him and find that the presence of your hand on his shoulder has caused him to jump, turning around, his hand still grasping the scalpel he had used to slice open your back, his hands shaking as he holds it to you.   
  
You had never seen the look of fear on Neil’s face before. But it was something you hoped not to see again. The normally warm, olive tone of his skin had grown pale and nearly sickly. His normally bright, jade like eyes glassy, the crosshair of his pupil spinning rapidly as if he could not choose something to focus on. His lips were parted and quivering, desperately seeming to want to be forming words or some sort of explanation. You had never seen an expression on Neil’s face that you would describe as gaunt, considering his natural round cheeks and square jaw, but this was a look of fear after all.   
  
His hand shook and you quickly found yourself putting your hand over his to quell the shivering, using the other hand to pluck the scalpel away and set it aside.   
  
You knew not why Neil seemed to unsure and panicked over discussing his relationship to you in the past. But you knew that he needed some sort of comfort. You might not trust him. But you could recognize someone in need.   
  
“There’s no need for that,” you say as you step close, pushing Neil’s clutched hands down so they fell loose and hung at his side. You reacted as you hoped others would react to anyone in need of comfort. You placed your arms around him, feeling his every muscle vibrating with the ache of anxiety. You close your weight around his shoulders. And you feel him quake against you before after a few seconds his arms reach up between your arms and torso and cling to you around the shoulders. And you wait. And you wait.   
  
And then he begins to wail.   
  
You do not know what happened in your past with Neil Alleweitz. But you can tell he suffered. And you can tell that this is something that he has kept in for a very, very long time.   
  
Your name is Claus.   
  
And Lucas is not the only one whose PSI was advancing quickly.

* * *

Your name is Lucas

Of course you can't go by that name in this world. Too risky. There's already a Lucas just like you. Leder suggested the name Lucian to you -- it had a mysterious ring to it. You liked it. Gave off the feeling of being some kind of enigmatic Robin Hood like character who wore a mask and aided heroes from afar. The kind of name that would give off the air of curiosity to you. You couldn’t help but grin a little whenever the subject of your name came up between you and the others. The others being Kumatora and Duster of course. They thought the name had a cool sound as well. Especially Duster who proudly said that all the years teaching you thief arts had finally paid off. You finally had a name to go with the skill.    
  
Of course, thief arts weren’t the only thing you had been learning over the years. Even in a world of salvation after the reign of someone like  _ Emperor Porky _ (for as short lived as it was), there was always a risk of something else going wrong. Maybe not in this world. But in others. 

You see, somewhere down the line, you found how advanced your PSI had become -- reality bending and tweaking to the point of dimensional doorways and gates. It started with having dreams where you woke up in a strange, cloudlike kingdom. You swore at first that it was the same experience you’d had as a child when you found yourself among the field of floating sunflowers. But this time it was a little different. While the sunflowers had always had such a warm, loving embrace as you walked through them, there was something somber about these clouds. As if someone was very sad that you were there. Each time you arrived, you questioned both aloud and in your mind: “ _ Why would I be having such a strange dream _ ?” to which a disembodied voice would often respond. “ _ How interesting it is, that you think this a dream.” _ __   
__   
When you “awoke” you would often find yourself in a completely different place from where you had gone to sleep. Sometimes you would find that you had woken up an entire day earlier than you had gone to bed. Sometimes you would find that you were walking around, while your body still remained sleeping. It was all quite odd.   
  
Whatever these strange not-dreams and occurrences were,  Kumatora had admitted she had found herself in similar situations. Not the strange cloud kingdom. But waking up with time and space seeming to be distorted. She had often just brushed this off as what she called “PSI Puberty” and never looked back. But with you, it was very different. The cloud kingdom had caught her attention. But she didn’t know what to make of it.

However, it had a name. It was called Magicant, apparently. 

It was a world in your dreams, although it did not necessarily mean it was a dream. You simply had to fall asleep to get there. Most of the time. At least in your case you needed to. Some others could travel there willingly through magic tools. But it was always a place within dreams. And that’s how you would arrive.   
  
It used to be full of pink clouds and shells, giving off the sensation of a sunset on the beach. Almost romantic in nature. It had citizens of its own, all of which seemed painfully aware that they, in theory, did not exist. And you were the only one there that truly existed in what could be known as reality.  

However, when the time came for you to truly understand what kind of place Magicant was, it’s appearance was quite different. Like that experience from your youth, there were fields upon fields of sunflowers peeking up from between a sunset sky. It was not just the pink clouds and soft ocean ambiance that you had glimpsed on a few occasions. It was something for you that inspired comfort above all. It was designed to make sure that you were at ease.   
  
On this occasion, you met its leader. The time had come for you to understand what your new PSI was and how to control it. It was a PSI that would allow for the manipulation of time and space. Its ruler -- another PSI user around your age -- talked to you for a while. He explained precisely what this PSI was, and why you needed it. When he mentioned that you could manipulate time, before you could even eagerly consider your plan to rewind time to save your mother and brother, he stopped you. In this world, you would never succeed. There are some things time could not change. Space however, space could change things if you knew how to use it correctly in tandem with time. And he said there was a way, in time, where you could do just that. But you had to prepare for it.   
  
You couldn't remember the ruler’s name. He knew he was a King. King of Magicant, he suspected. But he didn’t have much memory. In fact, he had told you he wasn’t quite sure he could remember his own name either. He said he'd been there for a long time. Since his great-grandmother passed on and left the world to him. He said that Magicant always changed its design based on who needed it most. And the sunflowers were new. And it meant someone was coming. That someone was you. And that meant that you needed Magicant as a place for repose.

He told you how he'd been trying to tie together some strings. Tie together some worlds. There were PSI users from your world who were all congregating on one world, and there were PSI users from other worlds collecting there as well. This was a world he called the In Between. Where your story hadn't yet unfolded -- but if you truly wanted to rewind time and space to make things right for you and your family, you would need to reach this world.   
  
What he did tell you was that your brother was there. The very brother you sought to rewind reality for. Your brother was there from another world where his mission was to keep the child forms of you and your twin safe. But in order to do that, someone must protect him. He would never have to know about you. And it was probably for the best if he did not. You would likely only get caught up in unnecessary feelings and heartache should you intervene in any of his work. This king cautioned you -- your brother would not be the person you dreamed he would be. And to avoid causing you any grief, it was best to steer clear. Keep him safe. But do not get involved with his affairs unless absolutely necessary.   
  
Although it pained your heart to hear, “Your brother, Claus, is alive in this world, but you must not interact with him,” you would accept this request. You had your own hope to cling to.   


And so, this king taught you a skill. He called it the 4-D Flip. He joked, because he called it that as a child, having made a little jest about breaking the forth dimension in order to use it. At its most basic form, it was teleporting. But it was far more advanced. As he had aged, he had found it helped him transcend worlds. And that was how he dwelt in Magicant to this day. One day, he simply teleported so intensely, he left reality altogether. 

He said a more appropriate name was probably PSI World since it would ultimately allow you to transport yourself to different worlds and realms. He liked how that sounded, anyways. He heard another user call it PSI Meta but that didn't seem as fun. It seemed too stuffy. Too nerdy for his liking. Though, he had a friend from his youth whom he knew would have loved it.

He told you once you perfected PSI World,  he'd like you to go to that world called the In Between. Keep an eye on the person protecting you as a child. Your brother. You needed to keep him safe, while he kept the children safe.

But what you saw when you arrived. . .

You weren’t sure you could keep that promise of not interacting with your brother.


End file.
